“I don’t care if you do speak English; I prefer Italian—what is your name?” She repeated the question in Italian.

“Si, signorina,” he ventured again. An anxious look had crept to his face and he hastily turned away and commenced carrying parcels from the kitchen. Constance looked after him, puzzled and suspicious. The one insult which she could not brook was for an Italian to fail to understand her when she talked Italian. As he returned and knelt to tighten the strap of a hamper, she caught sight of the thread that held his earring. She looked a second longer, and a sudden smile of illumination flashed to her face. She suppressed it quickly and turned away.

“He seems rather slow about understanding,” she remarked to the others, “but I dare say he’ll do.”

“The poor fellow is embarrassed,” apologized her father. “His name is Tony,” he added—even he had understood that much Italian.

“Was there ever an Italian who had been in America whose name was not Tony? Why couldn’t he have been Angelico or Felice or Pasquale or something decently picturesque?”

“My dear,” Miss Hazel objected, “I                                                          think you are hypercritical. The man is scarcely to blame for his name.”

“I suppose not,” she agreed, “though I should have included that in my order.”

Further discussion was precluded by the appearance of a station-carriage which turned in at the gate and stopped before them. Two officers descended and saluted. In summer uniforms of white linen with gold shoulder-straps, and shining top-boots, they rivalled the donkey-man in decorativeness. Constance received them with flattering acclaim, while she noted from the corner of her eye the effect upon Tony. He had not counted upon this addition to the party, and was as scowling as she could have wished. While the officers were engaged in making their bow to the others, Constance casually reapproached the donkeys. Tony feigned immersion in the business of strapping hampers; he had no wish to be drawn into any Italian tête-à-tête. But to his relief she addressed him this time in English.

 “Are these donkeys used to mountain-climbing?”

“But yes, signorina! Sicuramente. Zay are ver’ strong, ver’ good. Zat donk’, signorina, he go all day and never one little stumble.”

His English, she noted with 

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