‘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.
A commotion had suddenly arisen on the terrace—the rumble of wheels, the confused mingling of voices. Constance and Jerry looked too. They found the yellow omnibus of the Hotel du Lac, its roof laden with luggage, drawn up at the end of the driveway, and Mrs. Eustace and Nannie on the point of descending. The centre of the terrace was already occupied by Lieutenant di Ferara, who, with heels clicked together and white gloved hands at salute, was in the act of achieving a military bow. Miss Hazel fluttering from the door, in one breath welcomed the guests, presented the lieutenant, and ordered Giuseppe to convey the luggage upstairs. Then she glanced questioningly about the terrace.
‘I thought Constance and her father were here—Giuseppe!’