Jerry | Page 6

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 humour; 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 rider saluted politely and
indifferently, and jangled on. The young man scowled after him
maliciously until the cypresses hid him from view; then he turned and
took up the dusty road back towards the Hotel du Lac.
It was close upon five, and Gustavo was in the courtyard feeding the
parrot, when his eye fell upon the American guest scuffling down the
road in a cloud of white dust. Gustavo hastened to the gate to welcome
him back, his very eyebrows expressive of his eagerness for news.
'You are returned, signore?'
The young man paused and regarded him unemotionally.
'Yes, Gustavo, I am returned--with thanks.'
'You have seen ze Signorina Costantina?'
'Yes, I saw her.'
'And is it not as I have said, zat she is beautiful as ze holy angels?'

'Yes, Gustavo, she is--and just about equally remote. You may make
out my bill.'
The waiter's face clouded.
'You do not wish to remain longer, signore?'
'Can't stand it, Gustavo; it's too infernally restful.'
Poor Gustavo saw a munificent shower of tips vanishing into nothing.
His face was rueful, but his manner was undiminishingly polite.
'Si, signore, sank you. When shall you wish ze omnibus?'
'To-morrow morning for the first boat.'
Gustavo bowed to the inevitable; and the young man passed on. He
paused half-way across the courtyard.
'What time does the first boat leave?'
'At half-past five,