age to a young American man who is staying at the
Hotel du Lac--you may have seen him?"

Tony nodded.

"I have climb Monte Maggiore wif him. You recommend me; I sank you ver'
moch. Nice man, zat yong American; ver' good, ver' simpatico." He leaned
forward with a sudden air of anxiety. "Signorina, you--you like zat yong
man?"

"I have only met him twice, but--yes, I like him."

"You like him better zan me?" His anxiety deepened; he hung upon her
words.

She shook her head reassuringly.

"I like you both exactly the same."

"Signorina, which you like better, zat yong American or ze Signor
Lieutenant?"

"Your questions are getting too personal, Tony."

He folded his arms and sighed.

"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 tomorrow 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 e 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."

"Sank you, signorina." His manner was humble. "Elizabetta's dinners
consist of a plate of garlic and macaroni on the kitchen steps. I don't
like garlic and I'm tired of macaroni; if it's just the same to you, I
think I'll dine at home." He held out his hand.

She read his purpose in his eye and put her own hands behind her.

"You won't shake hands, signorina? We are not friends?"

"I learned a lesson the last time."

"You shake hands wi