straight toward
the parapet where, on an historic wash-day, the signorina had sat beside
a row of dangling stockings. She was sitting there now, dressed in white,
the oleander tree above her head enveloping her in a glowing and fragrant
shade. So occupied was she with a dreamy contemplation of the mountains
across the lake that she did not hear footsteps until Giuseppe paused
before her and presented the card. She glanced from this to the visitor,
and extended a friendly hand.

'Mr. Hilliard! Good afternoon.'

There was nothing of surprise in her greeting; evidently she did not find
the visit extraordinary. Giuseppe stared, his mouth and eyes at their
widest, until the signorina dismissed him; then he turned and walked
back--staggered back almost--never before not even late at night on
Corpus Domini day, had he had such overwhelming reason to doubt his
senses.

Constance turned to the visitor, and swept him with an appreciative
glance, her eye lingering a second on the oleander in his buttonhole.

'Perhaps you can tell me, is Tony out of jail? I am so anxious to know.'

He shook his head.

'Found guilty and sentenced for life; you'll never see him again.'

'Ah; poor Tony! I shall miss him.'

'I shall miss him too; we've had very good times together.'

Constance suddenly became aware that her guest was still standing; she
moved along and made place on the wall. 'Won't you sit down? Oh, excuse
me,' she added with an anxious glance at his clothes, 'I'm afraid you'll
get dusty; it would be better to bring a chair.' She nodded toward the
terrace.

He sat down beside her.

'I am only too honoured; the last time I came you did not invite me to
sit on the wall.'

'I am sorry if I appeared inhospitable, but you came so unexpectedly, Mr.
Hilliard.'

'Why "Mr. Hilliard"? When you wrote you called me "dear Jerry."'

'That was a slip of the pen; I hope you will excuse it.'

'When I wrote I called you "Miss Wilder"; that was a slip of the pen too.
What I meant to say was, "dear Constance."'

She let this pass without comment.

'I have an apology to make.'

'Yes?'

'Once, a long time ago, I insulted you; I called you a kid. I take it
back; I swallow the word. You were never a kid.'

'Oh,' she dimpled, and then, 'I don't believe you remember a thing about
it?'

'Connie Wilder, a little girl in a blue sailor suit, and two nice fat
braids of yellow hair dangling down her back with red bows on the
ends--very c