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 today.”
“What time zay come home?”
“About seven o’clock, I fancy.”
“Ze signora and ze signorina—zay come two days before zay are expect.” He was clearly aggrieved by the fact.
Constance’s mystification increased; she saw not the slightest connection.
“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 arbor, 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.
Group of women talking, with waiter and parrot in background “Nannie caught sight of the visitors first, and came running forward to meet them”
“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 someone. 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!”
“Really!” Constance dimpled irrepressibly. “You are sure Jerry wrote it?”
“It was his writing; and I showed it to Gustavo, and what do you think he said?”
Constance shook her head.
“He said that Jerry had forgotten to register, that that was written by a Hungarian nobleman who was here last week—imagine a Hungarian nobleman named Abraham Lincoln!”
Constance dropped into one of the little iron chairs and bowed her head on the back and laughed.
“Perhaps you can explain?” There was a touch of sharpness in Nannie’s tone.
“Don’t ever ask me to explain anything Gustavo says; the man is not to be believed under oath.”
“But what’s become of Jerry?”
“Oh, he’ll turn up.” Constance’s tone was comforting. “Aunt Hazel,” she called. Miss Hazel and Mrs. Eustace, their heads together over the tea table, were busily making up three months’ dropped news. “Do you remember the young man I told you about who popped into our garden last week? That was Jerry Junior!”
“Then you’ve seen him?” said Nannie.
Constance related the episode of the broken wall—the sequel she omitted. “I hadn’t seen him for six years,” she added apologetically, “and I didn’t recognize him. Of course if I’d dreamed—”
Nannie groaned.
“And I thought I’d planned it so beautifully!”
“Planned what?”
“I suppose I might as well tell you since it’s come to nothing. We hoped—that is, you see—I’ve been so worried for fear Jerry—” She took a breath and began again. “You know, Constance, when it comes to getting married, a man has no more sense than a two-year child. So I determined to pick out a wife for Jerry, myself, one I would like to have for a sister. I’ve done it three times and he simply wouldn’t look at them; you can’t imagine how stubborn he is. But when I found we were coming to Valedolmo, I said to myself, now this is my opportunity; I will have him marry Connie Wilder.”
