"I don't think so," said Pat, in a contradictory tone; "a few of our new guns would knock it to pieces in no time." Mrs. Pellypop deigned no reply to this flippant remark, but walked off indignantly, wishing that the fate he intended for Valletta would befall this intrusive young man. Suddenly Ronald uttered an exclamation:-- "By Jove! what pretty girls!" Valletta, its traditions, its views, its pleasures, all vanished to nothing as he saw before him feminine beauty. Mrs. Pellypop was disgusted, as she considered no man had a right to admire a woman when another was beside him. This however was merely the Pellypop code, and not generally adopted. But the two ladies who had caused Ronald's exclamation fully justified his remark. One was tall and slender, with a dark, oval face, and coils of jet-black hair wreathed round her small head. Wonderfully dark eyes which had a sleepy look, a straight, delicately chiselled nose, and a full red mouth. She was dressed in a loose, white gown, with a crimson sash round her waist, and instead of the ugly hoods generally worn by the Maltese ladies, had a saucy sailor hat on her head, long Suède gloves, and a tall pompadour umbrella of red silk, completed her costume. The other was somewhat similar in appearance, but evidently older, and had rather a repelling expression of countenance. She was dressed in black, and did not show to such advantage as her companion, so, after a careless glance at her, Ronald--who, like all fair men, admired dark women--turned his attention to the younger of the two. They appeared to have been quarrelling, and the younger girl was walking quickly a little in advance of her friend with an indignant expression on her face, while the other followed more slowly with a frown on her strongly marked features. When they disappeared, Ronald turned to his companion with a sigh. "Yes awfully pretty." "I confess," observed Mrs. Pellypop, slowly, "I do not think so." Ronald was discreet, and surrendered. "I dare say not," he observed hastily, "but you see one is so often deceived by a passing glance." They wandered all over the city--went to the market and bought fruit, and were warned against eating it by an officious Maltese--saw the Armoury in the Grand Master's Palace--strolled round St. George's Square, and viewed with patriotic pride the flattering inscription to British Power over the Main Guard-House--sat in the carriage of the last Grand Master, and then went and had a light afternoon meal at a well-known hotel. It was now getting late, so, with a farewell glance at the Strada Reale and its queer crowd, they went down to the water-gate, where they found their boat waiting. A crowd of passengers was there, full of excitement about bargains made and experiences gained, and some guilelessly thought they had got the better of the Maltese shopmen, a thing quite impossible in this enlightened age.