There was even some attempt at ornamentation, and many of the shrubs and flowers were rare and beautiful.

Narrow walks traversed the masses of foliage, and several leafy bowers invited one to escape the heat of the midday sun in their shelter.

It was not a large place, and struck one as being overcrowded because so many of the plants were taller than a man's head.
Uncle John turned down one path which, after several curves and turns, came to an abrupt ending beneath the spreading branches of an acacia tree which had been converted into a bower by a thick, climbing vine, whose matted leaves and purple blossoms effectually screened off the garden beyond.
While he stood gazing around him to find a way out without retracing his steps, a clear voice within a few feet of him caused him to start.

The voice spoke in vehement Italian, and came from the other side of the screen of vines.

It was sharp and garrulous in tone, and although Uncle John did not understand the words he recognized their dominating accent.
The Duke replied, slowly and sullenly, and whatever he said had the effect of rousing the first speaker to fierce anger.
The American became curious.