‘Will you deliver my message?’
‘Si, signorina, wif pleasure.’ There was not a trace of curiosity in his expression, nothing beyond a deferential desire to serve.
‘Tell him, Tony, that Miss Wilder will be at home to-morrow afternoon at tea-time; if he will come by the gate and present a card she will be most pleased to see him. She wishes him to meet an American friend, a Miss Hilliard, who has just arrived at the hotel this afternoon.’
She watched him sharply; his expression did not alter by a shade. He repeated the message and then added as if by the merest chance—
‘Ze yong American man, signorina—you know his name?’
‘Yes, I know his name.’ This time for the fraction of a second she surprised a look. ‘His name’—she hesitated tantalizingly—‘is Signor Abraham Lincoln.’
‘Signor Ab-ra-ham Lin-coln.’ He repeated it after her as if committing it to memory. They gazed at each other soberly a moment; then both laughed and looked away.
Luigi had appeared in the doorway. Seeing no one more important than Tony about, he found no reason for delaying the announcement of dinner.
‘Il pranzo è sulla tavola, signorina.’
‘Bene!’ said Constance over her shoulder. She turned back to Tony; her manner was kind. ‘If you go to the kitchen, Tony, Elizabetta will give you some dinner.’