Aristodemo will look after me.' Eleanor turned to Manisty.
'Come!' she said.
This time she rather commanded than entreated.

There was a delicate stateliness in her attitude, her half-mourning dress of grey and black, her shadowy hat, the gesture of her hand, that spoke a hundred subtle things--all those points of age and breeding, of social distinction and experience, that marked her out from Lucy--from the girl's charming immaturity.
Manisty rose ungraciously.

As he followed his cousin along the narrow path among the strawberry beds his expression was not agreeable.

Eleanor's heart--if she had looked back--might have failed her.

But she hurried on.
* * * * * Lucy, left to herself, set the stove under the kettle alight and prepared some fresh tea, while Aristodemo and the other boy leant against the wall in the shade chattering to each other.
The voices of Eleanor and Manisty had vanished out of hearing in the wood behind the Giardino.