“And my own dad as well?”
Mr. Wilder shook his head.
“I came here at your instigation for rest and relaxation—to get rid of nervous worries, and here I find a big new worry waiting for me that I’d never thought of having before. What if my only daughter should take it in her head to marry one of these infernally good-looking Italian officers?”
Constance reached over and patted his arm.
“Don’t let it bother you, Dad; I assure you I won’t do anything of the sort. I should think it my duty to learn the subjunctive mood, and that is impossible.”
Gustavo came hurrying back with a tray. He arranged the glasses, the ice, the sugar, the cakes, with loving, elaborate obsequiousness. The signorina examined the ice doubtfully, then with approval.
“It’s exactly right to-day, Gustavo! You got it too large the last time, you remember.”
She stirred in some sugar and tasted it tentatively, her head on one side. Gustavo hung upon her expression in an agony of apprehension; one would have thought it a matter for public mourning if the lemonade were not mixed exactly right. But apparently it was right—she nodded and smiled—and Gustavo’s expression assumed relief. Constance broke open a pine nut cake and settled herself for conversation.
“Haven’t you any guests, Gustavo?” Her eyes glanced over the empty court-yard. “I am afraid the hotel is not having a very prosperous season.”
“Grazie, signorina. Zer never are many in summer; it is ze dead time, but still zay come and zay go. Seven arrive last night.”
“Seven! That’s nice. What are they like?”
“German mountain-climbers wif nails in zer shoes. Zey have gone to Riva on ze first boat.”
“That’s too bad—then the hotel is empty?”
“But no! Zer is an Italian Signora wif two babies and a governess, and two English ladies and an American gentleman—”
“An American gentleman?” Her tone was languidly interested. “How long has he been here?”
“Tree—four day.”
“Indeed—what is he like?”
“Nice—ver’ nice.” (Gustavo might well say that; his pockets were lined with the American gentleman’s silver lire.) “He talk to me always. ‘Gustavo,’ he say, ‘I am all alone; I wish to be ’mused. Come and talk Angleesh.’ Yes, it is true; I have no time to finish my work; I spend whole day talking wif dis yong American gentleman. He is just a little—” He touched his head significantly.
“Really?” She raised her eyes with an air of awakened interest. “And how did he happen to come to Valedolmo?”
“He come to meet his family, his sister and his—his aunt, who are going wif him to ze Tyrollo. But zay have not arrive. Zey are in Lucerne, he says, where zer is a lion dying, and zey wish to wait until he is dead; zen zey come.—Yes, it is true; he tell me zat.” Gustavo tapped his head a second time.
The signorina glanced about apprehensively.
“Is he safe, Gustavo—to be about?”
“Si, signorina, sicuramente! He is just a little simple.”
Mr. Wilder chuckled.
“Where is he, Gustavo? I think I’d like to make that young man’s acquaintance.”
“I sink, signore, he is packing his trunk. He go away today.”
“Today, Gustavo?” There was audible regret in Constance’s tone. “Why is he going?”
“It is not possible for him to stand it, signorina. Valedolmo too dam slow.”
“Gustavo! You mustn’t say that; it is very, very bad. Nice men don’t say it.”
Gustavo held his ground.
“Si, signorina, zat yong American gentleman say it—dam slow, no divertimento.”
“He’s just about right, Gustavo,” Mr. Wilder broke in. “The next time a young American gentleman blunders into the Hotel du Lac you send him around to me.”
“Si, signore.”
Gustavo rolled his eyes toward the signorina; she continued to sip her lemonade.
“I have told him yesterday an American family live at Villa Rosa; he say ‘All right, I go call,’ but—but I sink maybe you were not at home.”
“Oh!” The signorina raised her head in apparent enlightenment. “So that was the young man? Yes, to be sure, he came, but he said he was looking for Prince Sartorio’s villa. I am sorry you were away, Father, you would have enjoyed him; his English was excellent.—Did he tell you he saw me, Gustavo?”
“Si, signorina, he tell me.”
“What did he say? Did he think I was nice?”
Gustavo looked embarrassed.
“I—I no remember, signorina.”
She laughed and to his relief changed the subject.
“Those English ladies who are staying here—what do they look like? Are they young?”
Gustavo delivered himself of an inimitable gesture which suggested that the English ladies had entered the bounds of that indefinite period when the subject of age must be politely waived.
“They are tall, signorina, and of a thinness—you would not believe it possible.”
“I see! And so the poor young man was bored?”
Gustavo bowed vaguely. He saw no connection.
“He was awfully good-looking,” she added with a sigh. “I’m afraid I made a mistake. It would be rather fun, don’t you think, Dad, to have an entertaining young American gentleman about?”
“Ump!” he grunted. “I thought you were so immensely satisfied with the officers.”
“Oh, I am,” she agreed with a shrug which dismissed forever the young American gentleman.
“Well, Gustavo,” she added in a business-like tone, “I will tell you why we called. The doctor says the Signor Papa is getting too fat—I don’t think he’s too fat, do you? He seems to me just comfortably chubby; but anyway, the doctor says he needs exercise, so we’re going to begin climbing mountains with nails in our shoes like the Germans. And we’re going to begin to-morrow because we’ve got two English people at the villa who adore mountains. Do you think you can find us a guide and some donkeys? We want a nice, gentle, lady-like donkey for my aunt, and another for the English lady and a third to carry the things—and maybe me, if I get tired. Then we want a man who will twist their tails and make them go; and I am very particular about the man. I want him to be picturesque—there’s no use being in Italy if you can’t have things picturesque, is there, Gustavo?”
“Si, signorina,” he bowed and resumed his attitude of strained attention.
“He must have curly hair and black eyes and white teeth and a nice smile; I should like him to wear a red sash and earrings. He must be obliging and cheerful and deferential and speak good Italian—I won’t have a man who speaks only dialect. He must play the mandolin and sing Santa Lucia—I believe that’s all.”
“And I suppose since he is to act as guide he must know the region?” her father mildly suggested.
“Oh, no, that’s immaterial; we can always ask our way.”
Mr. Wilder grunted, but offered no further suggestion.
“We pay four lire a day and furnish his meals,” she added munificently. “And we shall begin with the castle on Monte Baldo; then when we get very proficient we’ll climb Monte Maggiore. Do you understand?”
“Ze signorina desires tree donkeys and a driver at seven o’clock to-morrow morning to climb Monte Baldo?”
“In brief, yes, but please remember the earrings.”
Meanwhile a commotion was going on behind them. The hotel omnibus had rumbled into the court yard. A fachino had dragged out a leather trunk, an English hat box and a couple of valises and dumped them on the ground while he ran back for the paste pot and a pile of labels. The two under-waiters, the chamber-maid and the boy who cleaned boots had drifted into the court. It was evident that the American gentleman’s departure was imminent.