Now and again, quite out of keeping with her surroundings, a
rosy-cheeked British nursemaid passed by escorting her charges--the
blue-eyed, flaxen-haired children of the dominant race.
General Wilders walked along with head erect, returning punctiliously
the innumerable salutes he received, quite happy, and in his element
in this essentially military post and stronghold. Mrs. Wilders seemed
also to enjoy the busy, animated scene: it was all so new to her, so
different from anything she had expected, as she was at great pains to
explain. The sight of this foreign town held by British bayonets
pleased her, she said; she was proud to think that she was now an
Englishwoman.
"It is your first visit to Gibraltar, then?" said young Mr. Wilders,
anxious to be civil.
"Oh, yes!" she replied; "that is why I am so interested--so amused by
all I see."
Was this absolutely true? She seemed, as she led the way across the
casemate square and up Waterport Street, to know the road without
guidance, and once or twice a passer-by paused to look at her. Were
they only paying tribute to her radiant beauty, or was her's not
altogether an unfamiliar face?
It was evident that there were those at Gibraltar who knew her, or
mistook her for some one else.
As the party reached the Commercial Square, and the main guard, like
that at Waterport, turned out to do honour to the general, a man
pushed forward from a little group that stood respectfully behind the
party, and whispered hoarsely in Mrs.
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