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.”