'Think of the Garden of Eden--the most beautiful garden there has ever been, if report speaks true--and yet the mere pleasure of strolling about didn't keep Adam contented.

One gets lonely, you know.' 'Are you the only guest ?' 'Oh, no, there are four of us, but we're not very companionable; there's such a discrepancy in languages.' 'And you don't speak Italian ?' He shook his head.
'Only English and'-- he glanced at the book in her hand--'French indifferently well.' 'I saw some one the other day who spoke Magyar--that is a beautiful language.' 'Yes ?' he returned with polite indifference.

'I don't remember ever to have heard it.' She laughed and glanced about.

Her eyes lighted on the arbour hung with grape-vines and wistaria, where, far at the other end, Gustavo's figure was visible lounging in the yellow stucco doorway.

The sight appeared to recall an errand to her mind.