noon
She stood by Richard Calmady , looking down at him , covering him , so to speak , with her eyes . The black mantilla no longer veiled her bright head . It had fallen to the ground , and lay a dark blot upon the mellow fairness of the tesselated pavement . White-robed , statuesque -- yet not with the severe grace of marble , but with that softer , more humanly seductive grace of some figure of cunningly tinted ivory -- she appeared , just then , to gather up in herself all the poetry , the intense and vivid light , the victorious vitality , of the clear , burning , southern noon . `` Ah , well , conventionality proved perfectly competent to avenge herself ! '' she exclaimed . `` The animal Destournelle took the average , the banal view , as might have been anticipated .