amused appreciation, was an exact copy of Gustavo’s; he had learned his lesson well. But she allowed not the slightest recognition of the fact to appear in her face.

“And what are their names?” she inquired.

“Dis is Fidilini, signorina, and zat one wif ze white nose is Macaroni, and zat ovver is Cristoforo Colombo.”

Elizabetta appeared in the doorway with two rush-covered flasks, and Tony hurried forward to receive them. There was a complaisant set to his shoulders as he strode off, Constance noted delightedly; he was felicitating himself upon the ease with which he had fooled her. Well! She would give him cause before the day was over for other than felicitations. She stifled a laugh of prophetic triumph and sauntered over to Beppo.

“When Tony is engaged as a guide do you always go with him?”

“Not always, signorina, but Carlo has wished me to go to-day to look after the donkeys.”

“And who is Carlo?”

“He is the guide who owns them.”

Beppo looked momentarily guilty; the answer had slipped out before he thought.

“Oh, indeed! But if Tony is a guide why doesn’t he have donkeys of his own?”

“He used to, but one unfortunately fell into the lake and got drowned and the other died of a sickness.”

He put forth this preposterous statement with a glance as grave and innocent as that of a little cherub.

“Is Tony a good guide?”

“But yes, of the best!”

There was growing anxiety in Beppo’s tone. He divined suspicion behind these persistent inquiries, and he knew that in case Tony were dismissed, his own munificent pay would stop.

“Do you understand any English?” she suddenly asked.

He modestly repudiated any great knowledge. “A word here, a word there; I learn it in school.”

“I see!” She paused for a moment and then inquired casually, “Have you known Tony long?”

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