'I shall never speak to you again. You can climb as many mountains as you wish with my father, but you can't have anything more to do with me.'

'_Scusi_, signorina. I--I did not mean to. It was just an accident, signorina.'

Constance turned her back and stared at the road.

'It was not my fault. Truly it was not my fault. I did not wish to kiss you--no nevair. But I could not help it. You put your head too close.'

She raised her eyes and studied the mountain-top.

'Signorina, why you treat me so cruel?'

Her back was inflexible.

'I am desolate. If you forgive me zis once I will nevair again do a sing so wicked. Nevair, nevair, nevair.'

Constance continued her inspection of the mountain-top. Tony leaned forward until he could see her face.

'Signorina,' he whispered, 'jus' give me one li'l' smile to show me you are not angry for ever.'

The stage had stopped and Mr. Wilder was climbing down, but Constance's gaze was still fixed on the sky, and Tony's eyes were on her.

'What's the matter, Constance, have you gone to sleep? Aren't you going to get out?'

She came back with a start.

'Are we here already?'

There was a suspicion of regret in her tone which did not escape Tony.

At the Villa Rosa gates he wished them a humbly deferential good night, but with a smile hovering about the corners of his mouth. Constance made no response. As he strode off, however, she turned her head and looked after him. He turned too and caught her. He waved his hand with a laugh, and took up his way, whistling Santa Lucia in double time.

CHAPTER XIII

Three days pa.s.sed in which Mr. Wilder and Tony industriously climbed, and in which nothing of consequence pa.s.sed between Constance and Tony. If she happened to be about when the expeditions either started or came to an end (and for one reason or another she usually was) she ignored him entirely; and he ignored her, except for an occasional mockingly deferential bow. He appeared to extract as much pleasure from the excursions as Mr. Wilder, and he asked for no extra compensation by the way.

It was Tuesday again, just a week and a day since the young American had dropped over the wall of Villa Rosa asking for the garden of the prince.

Tony and Mr. Wilder were off on a trip; Miss Hazel and Constance on the point of sitting down to afternoon tea--there were no guests to-day--when the gardener from the Hotel du Lac appeared with a message from Nannie Hilliard. She and her aunt had arrived half an hour before, which was a good two days earlier than they were due. Constance read the note with a clouded brow and silently pa.s.sed it to Miss Hazel. The news was not so entirely welcome as under other circ.u.mstances it would have been. Nannie Hilliard was both perspicacious and fascinating, and Constance foresaw that her presence would tangle further the already tangled plot of the little comedy which was unfolding itself at Villa Rosa. But Miss Hazel, divining nothing of comedies or plots, was thrown into a pleasant flutter by the news. Guests were a luxury which occurred but seldom in the quiet monotony of Valedolmo.

'We must call on them at once and bring them back to the house.'

'I suppose we must.' Constance agreed with an uncordial sigh.

Fifteen minutes later they were on their way to the Hotel du Lac, while Elizabetta, on her knees in the villa guest-room, was vigorously scrubbing the mosaic floor.

Gustavo hurried out to meet them. He was plainly in a flutter; something had occurred to upset the usual suavity of his manners.

'_Si_, signorina, in ze garden--ze two American ladies--having tea. And you are acquaint wif ze family; all ze time you are acquaint wif zem, and you never tell me!' There was mystification and reproach in his tone.

Constance eyed him with a degree of mystification on her side.

'I am acquainted with a number of families that I have never told you about,' she observed.

'_Scusi_, signorina,' he stammered; and immediately, 'Tony, zat donk'-man, what you do wif him?'

'Oh, he and my father are climbing Monte Brione to-day.'

'What time zay come home?'

'About seven o'clock, I fancy.

'Ze signora and ze signorina--zay come two days before zay are expect.'

And he was clearly aggrieved by the fact.

Constance's mystification increased; she saw not the slightest connexion.

'I suppose, Gustavo, you can find them something to eat even if they did come two days before they were expected?'

The two turned toward the arbour, but Constance paused for a moment and glanced back with a shade of mischief in her eye.

'By the way, Gustavo, that young man who taught the parrot English has gone?'

Gustavo rolled his eyes to the sky and back to her face. She understood nothing; was there ever a muddle like this?

'_Si_, signorina,' he murmured confusedly, 'ze yong man is gone.'

Nannie caught sight of the visitors first, and with a start which nearly upset the tea table, came running forward to meet them; while her aunt, Mrs. Eustace, followed more placidly. Nannie was a big wholesome outdoor girl of a purely American type. She waited for no greetings; she had news to impart.

'Constance, Miss Hazel! I'm so glad to see you--what do you think? I'm engaged!'

Miss Hazel murmured incoherent congratulations, and tried not to look as shocked as she felt. In her day, no lady would have made so delicate an announcement in any such off-hand manner as this. Constance received it in the spirit in which it was given.

'Who's the man?' she inquired, as she shook hands with Mrs. Eustace.

'You don't know him--Harry Eastman, a friend of Jerry's. Jerry doesn't know it yet, and I had to confide in some one. Oh, it's no secret; Harry cabled home--he wanted to get it announced so I couldn't change my mind.

You see he only had a three weeks' vacation; he took a fast boat, landed at Cherbourg, followed us the whole length of France, and caught us in Lucerne just after Jerry had gone. I couldn't refuse him after he'd taken such a lot of trouble. That's what detained us: we had expected to come a week ago. And now----' by a rapid change of expression she became tragic.--'We've lost Jerry Junior!'

'Lost Jerry Junior!' Constance's tone was interested. 'What has become of him?'

'We haven't an idea. He's been spirited off--vanished from the earth and left no trace. Really, we're beginning to be afraid he's been captured by brigands. That head waiter, that Gustavo, knows where he is, but we can't get a word out of him. He tells a different story every ten minutes. I looked in the register to see if by chance he'd left an address there, and what do you think I found?'

'Oh!' said Constance; there was a world of illumination in her tone.

'What did you find?' she asked, hastily suppressing every emotion but polite curiosity.

'"Abraham Lincoln" in Jerry's hand-writing!'