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<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> Constance 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— <div class="blockquot"> ‘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.’ </div> 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 pretence 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 favour on your way home to-night?’ ‘You have but to ask.’ ‘I wish to send a message to a young American man who is staying at the Hotel du Lac—you may have seen him?’ Tony nodded. ‘I have climb Monte Maggiore wif him. You recommend me; I sank you ver’ moch. Nice man, zat yong American; ver’ good,   ver’ simpatico.’ He leaned forward with a sudden air of anxiety. ‘Signorina, you—you like zat yong man?’ ‘I have only met him twice, but—yes, I like him.’ ‘You like him better zan me?’ His anxiety deepened; he hung upon her word. She shook her head reassuringly. ‘I like you both exactly the same.’ ‘Signorina, which you like better, zat yong American or ze Signor Lieutenant?’ ‘Your questions are getting too personal, Tony.’ He folded his arms and sighed. ‘Will you deliver my message?’ ‘Si, signorina, wif pleasure.’ There was not a trace of curiosity in his expression, nothing beyond a deferential desire to serve. ‘Tell him, Tony, that Miss Wilder will be at home to-morrow afternoon at tea-time; if he will come by the gate and present a card she will be most pleased to see him. She wishes him to meet an American friend, a Miss Hilliard, who has just arrived at the hotel this afternoon.’ She watched him sharply; his expression did not alter by a shade. He repeated the message and then added as if by the merest chance— ‘Ze yong American man, signorina—you know his name?’ ‘Yes, I know his name.’ This time for   the fraction of a second she surprised a look. ‘His name’—she hesitated tantalizingly—‘is Signor Abraham Lincoln.’ ‘Signor Ab-ra-ham Lin-coln.’ He repeated it after her as if committing it to memory. They gazed at each other soberly a moment; then both laughed and looked away. Luigi had appeared in the doorway. Seeing no one more important than Tony about, he found no reason for delaying the announcement of dinner. ‘Il pranzo è sulla tavola, signorina.’ ‘Bene!’ said Constance over her shoulder. She turned back to Tony; her manner was kind. ‘If you go to the kitchen, Tony, Elizabetta will give you some dinner.’ ‘Sank you, signorina.’ His manner was humble. ‘Elizabetta’s dinners consist of a plate of garlic and macaroni on the kitchen steps. I don’t like garlic and I’m tired of macaroni; if it’s just the same to you, I think I’ll dine at home.’ He held out his hand. She read his purpose in his eye and put her own hands behind her. ‘You won’t shake hands, signorina? We are not friends?’ ‘I learned a lesson the last time.’ ‘You shake hands wif Lieutenant Count Carlo di Ferara.’ ‘It is the custom in Italy.’   ‘We are in Italy.’ ‘Behave yourself, Tony, and run along home!’ She laughed and nodded and turned away. On the steps she paused to add— ‘Be sure not to forget the message for Signor Abraham Lincoln. I shall be disappointed if he doesn’t come.’ <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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