"There is a terrace in front of it where lilies and oleanders grow and roses riot over an old stone wall, and the air is rich with the scent of them. At one end is a tall cypress-tree, and the sunlight touches the stem of it until it shines like fire against the green darkness of its boughs. On the worn old stone pavement white pigeons strut and preen themselves, puffing out their chests with the most absurd air of self-satisfaction. There are steps down from the terrace, and at the bottom there is a great bed of carnations, red and white and yellow, and their fragrance meets you like a wall of perfume as you pass." "There should be violets," he interrupted. "Where are your violets? You could not be happy without them." "Oh, of course there are violets," agreed Philippa, "masses of them, but I am not at all sure that they flower at the same time as the roses and lilies and carnations. I don't know much about gardening. Well, you walk down the pathway into a grove of olive-trees--a shimmer of pale silvery green, a sort of dim aisle in fairyland--until you come to the water's edge. There is an old stone seat, and you can just sit and look and look and drink it all in. No, not the water--the view, I mean. Blue water, brilliant heavenly blue, and far away in the distance a line of hills, faint and yet clear under a sky that is---- Oh, I don't know how to describe it. It is ridiculous to say it is blue. You must try and imagine it for yourself. And I think--oh yes, I am sure--there would be just a gleam of snowy whiteness on the top of the hills." "I don't believe you have ever seen it," said Francis teasingly. "You are making it all up as you go along." "Perhaps I am," she replied. "But I am sure I know where to find it." "Then we will go and look for this Magical Island, sweetheart. It is an island, I suppose? How do we reach it? In a fairy boat drawn by swans?" "Not quite. But it is fairyland when we get there." "When shall we start, my darling? Phil, how soon can we go?" "We must wait a little while." "But need we wait for long?" he pleaded. "How soon will you marry me?" "There is a long journey to the Magical Island--a long journey. But in a few weeks perhaps we can begin to think about it." He leaned towards her. "A few weeks! and I count the days until you are really mine. How soon do you think Rob will let me travel?" "I don't know. Let us ask him." He nodded. "I will ask him. And then--you will not keep me waiting?" "I will not keep you waiting," she said soberly. He kissed her fondly, and then rose to his feet and stood looking down at her as she stretched out her hand and drew a thread from the pile of silks which lay on a table beside her. "How industrious you are. Time was when you never touched a needle, and now you are always at work." "I am developing good habits, that is all. There is no saying what I shall take to next; you must never be surprised."