A buzz of talk broke out in the tent.
Carmela felt that she had no part in this activity, that her mere presence was a positive hindrance to the work in hand.

A trifle disappointed, yet not without a thrill of high resolve to create for herself an indispensable share in the movement of which her father was the central figure, she went out, unhitched her tired horse, and walked to the house.
In Brazil, a _quinta_, or farm, may range from a palace to a hovel.
Dom Corria was rich; consequently Las Flores attained the higher level.
It was a straggling, roomy structure, planned for comfort and hospitality rather than display, and the gardens, to whose beauty and extent was due the Spanish name, used to be famous throughout the province.

Carmela had not seen the place during five years; she expected to find changes, but was hardly prepared for the ravages made by neglect, aided by unchecked tropical growth, as the outcome of her father's two years in prison.

The flowers were gone, the rarer shrubs choked by rank weeds, the trees disfigured by rampant climbers.

But, in front of the long, deep veranda, even the attention of a month had restored much of its beauty to a widespread lawn.