t of Tony.
"Costantina."

"Oh! I congratulate you."

"Thank you--I hoped you would."

She looked away, gravely, toward the Maggiore rising from the midst of
its clouds. His gaze followed hers, and for three minutes there was
silence. Then he leaned toward her.

"Constance, will you marry me?"

"No!"

A pause of four minutes during which Constance stared steadily at the
mountain. At the end of that time her curiosity overcame her dignity; she
glanced at him sidewise. He was watching her with a smile, partly of
amusement, partly of something else.

"Dear Constance, haven't you had enough of play, are you never going to
grow up? You are such a kid!"

She turned back to the mountain.

"I haven't known you long enough," she threw over her shoulder.

"Six years!"

"One week and two days."

"Through three incarnations."

She laughed a delicious rippling laugh of surrender, and slipped her hand
into his.

"You don't deserve it, Jerry, after the fib you told your sister, but I
think--on the whole--I will."

Neither noticed that Mr. Wilder had stepped out from the house and was
strolling down the cypress alley in their direction. He rounded the
corner in front of the parapet, and as his eye fell upon them, came to a
startled halt. The young man failed to let go of her hand, and Constance
glanced at her father with an apprehensive blush.

"Here's--Tony, Dad. He's out of jail."

"I see he is."

She slipped down from the wall and brought Jerry with her.

"We'd like your parental blessing, please. I'm going to marry him, but
don't look so worried. He isn't really a donkey-man nor a Magyar nor an
orphan nor an organ-grinder nor--any of the things he has said he was. He
is just a plain American man and an _awful liar_!"

The young man held out his hand and Mr. Wilder shook it.

"Jerry," he said, "I don't need to tell you how pleased--"

"'Jerry!'" echoed Constance. "Father, you knew?"

"Long before you did, my dear." There was a suggestion of triumph in Mr.
Wilder's tone.

"Jerry, you told." There was reproach, scorn, indignation in hers.

Jerry spread out his hands in a gesture of repudiation.

"What could I do? He asked my name the day we climbed Monte Maggiore;
naturally, I couldn't tell him a lie."

"Then we haven't fooled anybody. How unromantic!"

"Oh, yes," said Jerry, "we've fooled lots of people. Gustavo doesn't
understand, and Giuseppe, you noticed, looked rather dazed. Then there's
Lieu