“Jerry,” he said, “I don’t need to tell you how pleased—”
“‘Jerry!’” echoed Constance. “Father, you knew?”
“Long before you did, my dear.” There was a suggestion of triumph in Mr. Wilder’s tone.
“Jerry, you told.” There was reproach, scorn, indignation in hers.
Jerry spread out his hands in a gesture of repudiation.
“What could I do? He asked my name the day we climbed Monte Maggiore; naturally, I couldn’t tell him a lie.”
“Then we haven’t fooled anybody. How unromantic!”
“Oh, yes,” said Jerry, “we’ve fooled lots of people. Gustavo doesn’t understand, and Giuseppe, you noticed, looked rather dazed. Then there’s Lieutenant Carlo di Ferara—”
“Oh!” said Constance, her face suddenly blank.
“You can explain to him now,” said her father, peering through the trees.