“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!”