tionally.

'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, signore.'

'Er--no--I'll take the second.'

'_Si_, signore. At half-past ten.'

CHAPTER III

It was close upon ten when Jerymn Hilliard, Jr., equipped for travel in
proper blue serge, appeared in the doorway of the Hotel du Lac. He looked
at his watch and discovered that he still had twenty minutes before the
omnibus meeting the second boat was due. He strolled across the
courtyard, paused for a moment to tease the parrot, and sauntered on to
his favourite seat in the summer-house. He had barely established himself
with a cigarette when who should appear in the gateway but Miss Constance
Wilder, of Villa Rosa, and a middle-aged man--at a glance the Signor
Papa. Jerymn Hilliard's heart doubled its beat. Why, he asked himself
excitedly, _why_ had they come?

The Signor Papa closed his green umbrella, and having dropped into a
chair--obligingly near the summer-house--took off his hat and fanned
himself. He had a tendency toward being stout, and felt the heat. The
girl, meanwhile, crossed the court and jangled the bell; she waited
two--three--minutes, then she pulled the rope again.

'Gustavo! Oh, Gustavo!'

The bell might have been rung by any one--the fisherman, the
omnibus-driver, Suor Celestina from the convent asking her everlasting
alms--and Gustavo took his time. But the voice was unmistakable; he
waited only to throw a clean napkin over his arm before hurrying to
answer.

'_Buon giorno_, signorina! Good morning, signore. It is beautiful
wea-thir, but warm. _Gia_, it is warm.'

He bowed and smiled and rubbed his hands together. His moustaches, fairly
bristling with good will, turned up in a h