“You might have asked my permission.”
“Oh, well, Jerry’s a dear; next to Harry you couldn’t find anyone nicer. But I knew the only way was not to let him suspect. I thought you see that you were still staying at the hotel; I didn’t know you’d taken a villa, so I planned for him to come to meet us three days before we really expected to get here. I thought in the meantime, being stranded together in a little hotel you’d surely get acquainted—Jerry’s very resourceful that way—and with all this beautiful Italian scenery about, and nothing to do—”
“I see!” Constance’s tone was somewhat dry.
“But nothing happened as I had planned. You weren’t here, he was bored to death, and I was detained longer than I meant. We got the most pathetic letter from him the second day, saying there was no one but the head waiter to talk to, nothing but an india-rubber tree to look at, and if we didn’t come immediately, he’d do the Dolomites without us. Then finally, just as we were on the point of leaving, he sent a telegram saying: ‘Don’t come. Am climbing mountains. Stay there till you hear from me.’ But being already packed, we came, and this is what we find—” She waved her hand over the empty grove.
“It serves you right; you shouldn’t deceive people.”
“It was for Jerry’s good—and yours too. But what shall we do? He doesn’t know we’re here and he has left no address.”
“Come out to the villa and visit us till he comes to search for you.”
Constance could hear her aunt delivering the same invitation to Mrs. Eustace, and she perforce repeated it, though with the inward hope that it would be declined. She had no wish that Tony and her father should return from their trip to find a family party assembled on the terrace. The adventure was not to end with any such tame climax as that. To her relief they did decline, at least for the night; they could make no definite plans until they had heard from Jerry. Constance rose upon this assurance and precipitated their leave-takings; she did not wish her aunt to press them to change their minds.
“Good-bye, Mrs. Eustace, good-bye, Nannie; we’ll be around tonight to take you sailing—provided there’s any breeze.”
She nodded and dragged her aunt off; but as they were entering the arbor a plan for further complicating matters popped into her head, and she turned back to call:
“You are coming to the villa tomorrow, remember, whether Jerry Junior turns up or not. I’ll write a note and invite him too—Gustavo can give it to him when he comes, and you needn’t bother any more about him.”
They found Gustavo hovering omnivorously in the courtyard, hungering for news; Constance summoned him to her side.
“Gustavo, I am going to send you a note tonight for Mr. Jerymn Hilliard. You will see that it gets to him as soon as he arrives?”
“Meestair Jayreem Ailyar?” Gustavo stared.
“Yes, the brother of the signorina who came today. He is expected tomorrow or perhaps the day after.”
“Scusi, signorina. You—you acquaint wif him?”
“Yes, certainly. I have known him for six years. Don’t forget to deliver the note; it’s important.”
They raised their parasols and departed, while Gustavo stood in the gateway bowing. The motion was purely mechanical; his thoughts were laboring elsewhere.
CHAPTER XIV
onstance occupied herself upon their return to Villa Rosa in writing the letter to Jerry Junior. It had occurred to her that this was an excellent chance to punish him, and it was the working philosophy of her life that a man should always be punished when opportunity presented. Tony had been entirely too unconcerned during the past few days; he needed a lesson. She spent three quarters of an hour in composing her letter and tore up two false starts before she was satisfied. It did not contain the slightest hint that she knew the truth, and—considered in this light—it was likely to have a chastening effect. The letter ran:
“Villa Rosa, Valedolmo,
“Lago di Garda.
“Dear Jerry Junior: I hope you don’t mind being called “Jerry Junior,” but “Mr. Hilliard” sounds so absurdly formal, when I have known your sister so long and so well. We are spending the summer here in Valedolmo, and Mrs. Eustace and Nannie have promised to stop with us for a few days, provided you can be persuaded to pause in your mad rush through Europe. Now please take pity on us—guests are such unusual luxuries, and as for men! Besides a passing tourist or so, we have had nothing but Italian officers. You can climb mountains with my father—Nan says you are a climber—and we can supply mountains enough to keep you occupied for a month.
“My father would write himself, only that he is climbing this moment.
“Yours most cordially,
“Constance Wilder.”
“P. S. I forgot to mention that we are acquainted already, you and I. We met six years ago, and you insulted me—under your own roof. You called me a kid. I shall accept nothing but a personal apology.”
Having read it critically, she sealed and addressed it with malicious delight; it was calculated to arouse just about the emotions she would like to have Tony entertain. She gave the note to Giuseppe with instructions to place it in Gustavo’s hands, and then settled herself gaily to await results.
Giuseppe was barely out of sight when the two Alpine-climbers appeared at the gate. Constance had been wondering how she could inform Tony that his aunt and sister had arrived, without unbending from the dignified silence of the past three days. The obvious method was to announce it to her father in Tony’s presence, but her father slipped into the house by the back way without affording her an opportunity. It was Tony himself who solved the difficulty. Of his own accord he crossed the terrace and approached her side. He laid a bunch of edelweiss on the balustrade.
“It’s a peace offering,” he observed.
She looked at him a moment without speaking. There was a new expression in her eyes that puzzled Tony, just as the expression in his eyes that morning on the water had puzzled her. She was studying him in the light of Jerry Junior. The likeness to the sophomore, who six years before sang the funny songs without a smile, was so very striking, she wondered she could ever have overlooked it.
“Thank you, Tony; it is very nice of you.” She picked up the flowers and smiled—with the knowledge of the letter that was waiting for him she could afford to be forgiving.
“You discharged me, signorina; will you take me back into your service?”
“I am not going to climb any more mountains; it is too fatiguing. I think it is better for you and my father to go alone.”
“I will serve you in other ways.”
Constance studied the mountains a moment. Should she tell him she knew, or should she keep up the pretense a little longer? Her insatiable love of intrigue won.
“Are you sure you wish to be taken back?”
“Si, signorina, I am very sure.”
“Then perhaps you will do me a favor on your way home tonight?”
“You have but to ask.”
