“Dear me!” Mr. Wilder ejaculated. “What did the young man do?”
Had Constance turned she would have found Tony’s face an interesting study. But she knew well enough without looking at him that he was listening to the conversation, and she determined to give him something to listen to. It was a salutary thing for Tony to be kept in mind of the fact that there were other men in the world.
She sighed.
“He was the first man I ever loved, Father, and he spurned me. Do you remember that Christmas when I was in boarding-school and you were called South on business? I wanted to visit Nancy Long, but you wouldn’t let me because you didn’t like her father; and you got Mrs. Jerymn Hilliard whom I had never set eyes on to invite me there? I didn’t want to go, and you said I must, and were perfectly horrid about it—you remember that?”
Mr. Wilder grunted.
“Yes, I see you do. And you remember how, with my usual sweetness, I finally gave way? Well, Dad, you never knew the reason. The Yale Glee Club came to Westfield that year just before the holidays began, and Miss Jane let everybody go to the concert whose deportment had been above eighty—that of course included me.
“Well, we all went, and we all fell in love—in a body—with a sophomore who played the banjo and sang negro songs. He had lovely dark gazelle-like eyes and he sang funny songs without smiling. The whole school raved about him all the way home; we cut his picture out of the program and pasted in the front of our watches. His name, Father—” she paused dramatically, “was Jerymn Hilliard Junior!”
“I sat up half the night writing diplomatic letters to you and Mrs. Hilliard; and the next day when it got around that I was actually going to visit in his house—well, I was the most popular girl in school. I was sixteen years old then; I wore sailor suits and my hair was braided down my back. Probably I did look young; and then Nannie, whom I was supposedly visiting, was only fifteen. There were a lot of cousins in the house besides all the little Hilliards, and what do you think? They made the children eat in the schoolroom! I never saw him until Christmas night; then when we were introduced, he shook my hand in a listless sort of way, said ‘How d’ y’ do?’ and forgot all about me. He went off with the Glee Club the next day, and I only saw him once more.
“We were playing blind man’s buff in the school-room; I had just been caught by the hair. It hurt and I was squealing. Everybody else was clapping and laughing, when suddenly the door burst open and there stood Jerry Junior! He looked straight at me and growled:
“‘What are you kids making such an infernal racket about?’”
She shut her eyes.
“Aunt Hazel, Dad, just think. He was my first love. His picture was at that moment in a locket around my neck. And he called me a kid!”
“And you’ve never seen him since?” Miss Hazel’s smile expressed amused indulgence.
Constance shook her head.
“He’s always been away when I’ve visited Nan—and for six years I’ve been waiting.” She straightened up with an air of determination. “But now, if he’s on the continent of Europe, I’ll get him!”
“And what shall you do with him?” her father mildly inquired.
“Do with him? I’ll make him take it back; I’ll make him eat that word kid!”
“H’m!” said her father. “I hope you’ll get him; he might act as an antidote to some of these officers.”
They had run in under the shadow of the mountain and the keel grated on the shore. Constance raised her eyes and studied the towering crag above their heads; when she lowered them again, her gaze for an instant met Tony’s. There was a new light in his eyes—amusement, triumph, something entirely baffling. He gave her the intangible feeling of having at last got the mastery of the situation.
CHAPTER XI
he sun was setting behind Monte Maggiore, the fishing smacks were coming home, Luigi had long since carried the tea things into the house; but still the two callers lingered on the terrace of Villa Rosa. It was Lieutenant di Ferara’s place to go first since he had come first, and Captain Coroloni doggedly held his post until such time as his junior officer should see fit to take himself off. The captain knew, as well as everyone else at the officer’s mess, that in the end the lieutenant would be the favored man; for he was a son of Count Guido di Ferara of Turin, and titles are at a premium in the American market. But still the marriage contract was not signed yet, and the fact remained that the captain had come last: accordingly he waited.
They had been there fully two hours, and poor Miss Hazel was worn with the strain. She sat nervously on the edge of her chair, and leaned forward with clasped hands listening intently. It required very keen attention to keep the run of either the captain’s or the lieutenant’s English. A few days before she had laughed at what seemed to be a funny story, and had later learned that it was an announcement of the death of the lieutenant’s grandmother. Today she confined her answers to inarticulate murmurs which might be interpreted as either assents or negations as the case required.
Constance however was buoyantly at her ease; she loved nothing better than the excitement of a difficult situation. As she bridged over pauses, and unobtrusively translated from the officer’s English into real English, she at the same time kept a watchful eye on the water. She had her own reasons for wishing to detain the callers until her father’s return.
Presently she saw, across the lake, a yellow sailboat float out from the shadow of Monte Maggiore and head in a long tack toward Villa Rosa. With this she gave up the task of keeping the conversation general; and abandoning Captain Coroloni to her aunt, she strolled over to the terrace parapet with Lieutenant di Ferara at her side. The picture they made was a charming color scheme. Constance wore white, the lieutenant pale blue; an oleander tree beside them showed a cloud of pink blossoms, while behind them for a background, appeared the rose of the villa wall and the deep green of cypresses against a sunset sky. The picture was particularly effective as seen from the point of view of an approaching boat.
Constance broke off a spray of oleander, and while she listened to the lieutenant’s recountal of a practice march, she picked up his hat from the balustrade and idly arranged the flowers in the vizor. He bent toward her and said something; she responded with a laugh. They were both too occupied to notice that the boat had floated close in shore, until the flap of the falling sail announced its presence. Constance glanced up with a start. She caught her father’s eye fixed anxiously upon her; whatever Gustavo and the officer’s mess of the tenth cavalry might think, he had not the slightest wish in the world to see his daughter the Contessa di Ferara. Tony’s face also wore an expression; he was sober, disgusted, disdainful; there was a glint of anger and determination in his eye. Constance hurried to the water steps to greet her father. Of Tony she took no manner of notice; if a man elects to be a donkey-driver, he must swallow the insults that go with the part.
The officers, observing that Luigi was hovering about the doorway waiting to announce dinner, waived the question of precedence and made their adieus. While Mr. Wilder and Miss Hazel were intent on the captain’s labored farewell speech, the lieutenant crossed to Constance who still stood at the head of the water steps. He murmured something in Italian as he bowed over her hand and raised it to his lips. Constance blushed very becomingly as she drew her hand away; she was aware, if the officer was not, that Tony was standing beside them looking on. But as he raised his eyes, he too became aware of it; the man’s expression was more than impertinent. The lieutenant stepped to his side and said something low and rapid, something which should have made a right-minded donkey-driver touch his hat and slink off. But Tony held his ground with a laugh which was more impertinent than the stare had been. The lieutenant’s face flushed angrily and his hand half instinctively went to his sword. Constance stepped forward.
“Tony! I shall have no further need of your services. You may go.”
Tony suddenly came to his senses.
“I—beg your pardon, Miss Wilder,” he stammered.
“I shall not want you again; please go.” She turned her back and joined the others.
The two officers with final salutes took themselves off. Miss Hazel hurried indoors to make ready for dinner; Mr. Wilder followed in her wake, muttering something about finding the change to pay Tony. Constance stood where they left her, staring at the pavement with hotly burning cheeks.
“Miss Wilder!” Tony crossed to her side; his manner was humble—actually humble—the usual mocking undertone in his voice was missing. “Really I’m awfully sorry to have caused you annoyance; it was unpardonable.”
Constance turned toward him.
“Yes, Tony, I think it was. Your position does not give you the right to insult my guests.”
Tony stiffened slightly.
“I acknowledge that I insulted him, and I’m sorry. But he insulted me, for the matter of that. I didn’t like the way he looked at me, any more than he liked the way I looked at him.”
“There is a certain deference, Tony, which an officer in the Royal Italian Army has a right to expect from a donkey-driver.”
Tony shrugged.
“It is a difficult position to hold, Miss Wilder. A donkey-driver, I find, plays the same accommodating rôle as the family watch-dog. You pat him when you choose; you kick him when you choose; and he is supposed to swallow both attentions with equal grace.”
“You should have chosen another profession.”
