She studied his face without speaking. Did it mean that he had got the letter and was hurt, or did it perhaps mean that he had got the letter and did not care to appear as Jerry Junior? That he enjoyed the play so long as he could remain incognito and stop it where he pleased, but that he had no mind to let it drift into reality? Very possibly it meant—she flushed at the thought—that he divined Nannie’s plot, and refused also to consider the fourth candidate.

  She laughed and dropped into their usual jargon.

“And the young American man, Signor Abraham Lincoln, will he come tomorrow for tea?”

“Ah, signorina, he is desolated, but it is not possible. He has received a letter and he must go; he has stopped too long in Valedolmo. Tomorrow morning early, he and I togever, we sail away to Austria.” His eyes went back to the trail of smoke left by the little steamer.

“And Costantina, Tony. You are leaving her behind?” It took some courage to put this question, but she did not flinch; she put it with a laugh which contained nothing but raillery.

Tony sighed—a deep melodramatic sigh—and laid his hand on his heart.

“Ah, signorina, zat Costantina, she has not any heart. She love one man one day, anozzer ze next. I go away to forget.”

His eyes dropped to hers; for an instant the mocking light died out; a questioning, wounded look took its place.

  She felt a quick impulse to hold out her hands, to say, “Jerry, don’t go!” If she only knew! Was he going because he thought that she wished to dismiss him, or because he wished to dismiss himself? Was it pique that bade him carry the play to the end, or was it merely the desire to get out of an awkward situation gracefully?

She stood hesitating, scanning the terrace pavement with troubled eyes; when she raised them to his face the chance was gone. He straightened his shoulders with an air of finality and picked up his hat from the balustrade.

“Some day, signorina, in New York, perhaps I play a little tune underneaf your window.”

She nodded and smiled.

“I will give the monkey a penny when he comes—good-bye.”

He bowed over her hand and touched it lightly to his lips.

“Signorina, addio!”

As he strode away into the dusky lane   of cypresses, she heard him whistling softly “Santa Lucia.” It was the last stroke, she reflected, angrily; he might at least have omitted that! She turned away and dropped down on the water steps to wait for the Farfalla. The terrace, the lake, the beautiful Italian night, suddenly seemed deserted and empty. Before she knew it was coming, she had leaned her head against the balustrade with a deep sob. She caught herself sharply. She to sit there crying, while Tony went whistling on his way!

As the Farfalla drifted idly over the water, Constance sat in the stern, her chin in her hand, moodily gazing at the shimmering path of moonlight. But no one appeared to notice her silence, since Nannie was talking enough for both. And the only thing she talked about was Jerry Junior, how funny and clever and charming he was, how phenomenally good—for a man; when she showed signs of stopping, Mr. Wilder by a question started her   on. It seemed to Constance an interminable two hours before they dropped their guests in the garden of the Hotel du Lac, and headed again for Villa Rosa.

As they approached their own water steps it became apparent that someone—a man—was standing at the top in an attitude of expectancy. Constance’s heart gave a sudden bound and the next instant sank deep. A babble of frenzied greetings floated out to meet them; there was no mistaking Gustavo. Moreover, there was no mistaking the fact that he was excited; his excitement was contagious even before they had learned the reason. He stuttered in his impatience to share the news.

“Signore! Dio mio! A calamity has happened. Zat Tony, zat donk’-man! he has got hisself arrested. Zay say it is a lie, zat he is American citizen; he is an officer who is dessert from ze Italian army. Zay say he just pretend he cannot spik Italian—but it is not true. He know ten—leven words.”

They came hurrying up the steps and   surrounded him, Mr. Wilder no less shocked than Gustavo himself.

“Arrested—as a deserter? It’s an outrage!” he thundered.

Constance laid her hand on Gustavo’s sleeve and whirled him about.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand. Where is Tony?”

Gustavo groaned.

“In jail, signorina. Four carabinieri are come to take him away. And he fight—Dio mio! he fight like ze devil. But zay put—” he indicated handcuffs—“and he go.”

Constance dropped down on the upper step and leaning her head against the balustrade, she laughed until she was weak.

Her father whirled upon her indignantly.

“Constance! Haven’t you any sympathy for the man? This isn’t a laughing matter.”

“I know, Dad, but it’s so funny—Tony an Italian officer! He can’t pronounce the ten—leven words he does know right.”

  “Of course he can’t; he doesn’t know as much Italian as I do. Can’t these fools tell an American citizen when they see one? I’ll teach ’em to go about chucking American citizens in jail. I’ll telegraph the consul in Milan; I’ll make an international matter of it!”

He fumed up and down the terrace, while Constance rose to her feet and followed after with a pretense at pacification.

“Hush, Dad! Don’t be so excitable. It was a very natural mistake for them to make. But if Tony is really what he says he is it will be very easily proved. You must be sure of your ground though, before you act. I don’t like to say anything against poor Tony now that he is in trouble, but I have always felt that there was a mystery connected with him. For all we know he may be a murderer or a brigand or an escaped convict in disguise. We only have his word you know that he is an American citizen.”

“His word!” Mr. Wilder fairly exploded. “Are you utterly blind? He’s   exactly as much an American citizen as I am. He’s—” He stopped and fanned himself furiously. He had sworn never to betray Tony’s secret, and yet, the present situation was exceptionable.

Constance patted him on the arm.

“There, Dad. I haven’t a doubt his story is true. He was born in Budapest, and he’s a naturalized American citizen. It’s the duty of the United States Government to protect him—but it won’t be difficult; I dare say he’s got his naturalization papers with him. A word in the morning will set everything straight.”

“Leave him in jail all night?”

“But you can’t do anything now; it’s after ten o’clock; the authorities have gone to bed.”

She turned to Gustavo; her tone was reassuring.

“In the morning we’ll get some American war-ships to bombard the jail.”

“Signorina, you joke!” His tone was reproachful.

She suddenly looked anxious.

  “Gustavo, is the jail strong?”

“Ver’ strong, signorina.”

“He can’t escape and get over into Austria? We are very near the frontier, you know.”

“No, signorina, it is impossible.” He shook his head hopelessly.

Constance laughed and slipped her hand through her father’s arm.

“Come, Dad. The first thing in the morning we’ll go down to the jail and cheer him up. There’s not the slightest use in worrying any more tonight. It won’t hurt Tony to be kept in—er—cold storage for a few hours—I think on the whole it will do him good!”

She nodded dismissal to Gustavo, and drew her father, still muttering, toward the house.

  CHAPTER XVII

erry Junior’s letter of regret arrived from Riva on the early mail. In the light of Constance’s effusively cordial invitation, the terse formality of his reply was little short of rude; but Constance read between the lines and was appeased. The writer, plainly, was angry, and anger was a much more becoming emotion than nonchalance. As she set out with her father toward the village jail, she was again buoyantly in command of the situation. She carried a bunch of oleanders, and the pink and white egg basket swung from her arm. Their way led past the gate of the Hotel du Lac, and Mr. Wilder, being under the impression that he was enjoying a very good joke all by himself, could not forego the temptation of stopping to inquire if Mrs. Eustace and   Nannie had heard any news of the prodigal. They found the two at breakfast in the courtyard, an open letter spread before them. Nannie received them with lamentations.