Miss Campbell read the inscription over twice before she could make out its meaning.
“Absurd children,” she cried delightedly, “you are giving me a birthday party. I knew you were suppressing something with all your giggling this morning. And here I had quite forgotten I was a year older to-day.”
“Not a year older, dearest cousin, a year younger,” cried Billie. “It was Evelyn who knew about this fascinating little place, and we thought we would entertain you here instead of at one of those tiresome hotels.”
Pasquale rubbed his hands together and smiled broadly with his head on one side.
“La Signora, she isa surprisa,” he exclaimed, as pleased as a child.
He led the way to the back of the house, through a low-ceilinged room paved with red tiles. At a small door at the end of the passage he paused and placed his fingers on his lips with an expression so arch and crafty that the girls laughed out loud in spite of his motions for silence. Then he flung open the door grandly and placed his hand on his heart, heaving a deep and dramatic sigh.
It was not to be expected that our tourists who had come through every variety of scenery, grand, sublime and beautiful, should be very enthusiastic now. But the Italian knew that he had something very fine to show. Just as an old picture dealer knows when he has a good picture and a good audience. The girls fairly danced on the grassy terrace overlooking the exquisite little valley at the foot of the mountain. And there, on the lawn, stood a table covered with a white cloth.
“The ladies willa eat breakfast at what time?” asked Pasquale. “The festa, she commenca at two. You willa come—not so?”
“Oh, yes, we will see all of it, Pasquale,” replied Evelyn.
Pasquale lingered.