‘I—beg your pardon, Miss Wilder,’ he stammered.
‘I shall not want you again; please go.’ She turned her back and joined the others.
The two officers with final salutes took themselves off. Miss Hazel hurried indoors to make ready for dinner; Mr. Wilder followed in her wake, muttering something about finding the change to pay Tony. Constance stood where they left her, staring at the pavement with hotly burning cheeks.
‘Miss Wilder!’ Tony crossed to her side; his manner was humble—actually humble—the usual mocking undertone in his voice was missing. ‘Really I’m awfully sorry to have caused you annoyance; it was unpardonable.’
Constance turned toward him.
‘Yes, Tony, I think it was. Your position does not give you the right to insult my guests.’
Tony stiffened slightly.
‘I acknowledge that I insulted him, and I’m sorry. But he insulted me, for the matter of that. I didn’t like the way he looked at me, any more than he liked the way I looked at him.’
‘There is a certain deference, Tony, which an officer in the Royal Italian Army has a right to expect from a donkey-driver.’
Tony shrugged.