Jerry Junior | Page 6

air of grave
attention until he should state his errand.
"I--I came--" He paused and glanced about vaguely; he could not at the
moment think of any adequate reason to account for his coming.
"Yes?"
Her eyes studied him with what appeared at once a cool and an amused
scrutiny. He felt himself growing red beneath it.
"Can I do anything for you?" she prompted with the kind desire of
putting him at his ease.
"Thank you--" He grasped at the first idea that presented itself. "I'm
stopping at the Hotel du Lac and Gustavo, you know, told me there was
a villa somewhere around here that belongs to Prince Someone or Other.
If you ring at the gate and give the gardener two francs and a visiting
card, he will let you walk around and look at the trees."
"I see!" said the girl, "and so now you are looking for the gate?" Her

tone suggested that she suspected him of trying to avoid both it and the
two francs. "Prince Sartorio-Crevelli's villa is about half a mile farther
on."
"Ah, thank you," he bowed a second time, and then added out of the
desperate need of saying something, "There's a cedar of Lebanon in it
and an India rubber plant from South America."
"Indeed!"
She continued to observe him with polite interest, though she made no
move to carry on the conversation.
"You--are an American?" he asked at length.
"Oh, yes," she agreed easily. "Gustavo knows that."
He shifted his weight.
"I am an American too," he observed.
"Really?" The girl leaned forward and examined him more closely, an
innocent, candid, wholly detached look in her eyes. "From your
appearance I should have said you were German--most of the
foreigners who visit Valedolmo are German."
"Well, I'm not," he said shortly. "I'm American."
"It is a pity my father is not at home," she returned, "he enjoys meeting
Americans."
A gleam of anger replaced the embarrassment in the young man's eyes.
He glanced about for a dignified means of escape; they had him pretty
well penned in. Unless he wished to reclimb the wall--and he did
not--he must go by the terrace which retreat was cut off by the
washer-women, or by the parapet, already occupied by the girl in white
and the washing. He turned abruptly and his elbow brushed a stocking
to the ground.

He stooped to pick it up and then he blushed still a shade deeper.
"This is washing day," observed the girl with a note of apology. She
rose to her feet and stood on the top of the parapet while she beckoned
to Giuseppe, then she turned and looked down upon the young man
with an expression of frank amusement. "I hope you will enjoy the
cedar of Lebanon and the India rubber tree. Good afternoon."
She jumped to the ground and crossed to the water-steps where
Giuseppe, with a radiant smile, was steadying the boat against the
landing. She settled herself comfortably among the cushions and then
for a moment glanced back towards shore.
"You would better go out by the gate," she called. "The wall on the
farther side is harder to climb than the one you came in by; and besides,
it has broken glass on the top."
Giuseppe raised the yellow sail and the Farfalla with a graceful dip,
glided out to sea. The young man stood eyeing its progress
revengefully. Now that the girl was out of hearing, a number of pointed
things occurred to him which he might have said. His thoughts were
interrupted by a fresh giggle from behind and he found that the three
washer-girls were laughing at him.
"Your mistress's manners are not the best in the world," said he,
severely, "and I am obliged to add that yours are no better."
They giggled again, though there was no malice behind their humor; it
was merely that they found the lack of a language in common a
mirth-provoking circumstance. Marietta, with a flash of black eyes,
murmured something very kindly in Italian, as she shook out a linen
sailor suit--the exact twin of the one that had gone to sea--and spread it
on the wall to dry.
The young man did not linger for further words. Setting his hat firmly
on his head, he vaulted the parapet and strode off down the cypress
alley that stretched before him; he passed the pink villa without a
glance. At the gate he stood aside to admit a horse and rider. The horse

was prancing in spite of the heat; the rider wore a uniform and a
shining sword. There was a clank of accoutrements as he passed, and
the wayfarer caught a gleam of piercing black eyes and a slight black
moustache turned up at the ends. The