‘Honoured to meet you,’ said Conyngham, holding out his hand with that frankness of manner which he accorded to great and small alike. The Alcalde, a man of immense importance in his own estimation, hesitated before accepting it.
‘General,’ he said, turning and bowing very low to Señora Barenna and Estella, who now joined them, ‘General, I leave you to explain to your niece the painful duties of my office.’
The General smiled and raised a deprecating shoulder.
‘Well, my dear,’ he said kindly to Julia, ‘it appears that our good Alcalde has news of a letter which is at present passing from hand to hand in Andalusia. It is a letter of some importance. Our good Mayor, who was at the window a minute ago, saw Mr. Conyngham hand you a letter. Between persons who only met in this garden five minutes ago such a transaction had a strange air. Our good friend, who is all zeal for Spain and the people of Ronda, merely asks you if his eyes deceived him. It is a matter at which we shall all laugh presently over a lemonade—is it not so? A trifle, eh?’ He passed his handkerchief across his moustache, and looked affectionately at his niece.
‘A letter!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘Surely the Alcalde presumes. He takes too much upon himself.’ The official stepped forward.
‘Señorita,’ he said, ‘I must be allowed to take that risk. Did this gentleman give you a letter three minutes ago?’
Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
‘Yes.’
‘May I ask the nature of the letter?’
‘It was a love letter.’