'I acknowledge that I insulted him, and I'm sorry. But he insulted me, for the matter of that. I didn't like the way he looked at me, any more than he liked the way I looked at him.' 'There is a certain deference, Tony, which an officer in the Royal Italian Army has a right to expect from a donkey-driver.' Tony shrugged. 'It is a difficult position to hold, Miss Wilder. A donkey-driver, I find, plays the same accommodating role as the family watch-dog. You pat him when you choose; you kick him when you choose; and he is supposed to swallow both attentions with equal grace.' 'You should have chosen another profession.' 'Naturally, I was not flattered to find that your real reason for staying at home to-day, was that you were expecting more entertaining callers.' 'Is there any use in discussing it further? I am not going to climb any more mountains, and I shall not, as I told you, need a donkey-man again.' 'Then I'm discharged?' 'If you wish to put it so. You must see for yourself that the play has gone far enough. However, it has been amusing, and we will at least part friends.' She held out her hand; it was a mark of definite dismissal rather than a token of friendly forgiveness. Tony bowed over her hand in perfect mimicry of the lieutenant's manner. 'Signorina, _addio_!' He gravely raised it to his lips. She snatched her hand away quickly and without glancing at him turned toward the house. He let her cross half the terrace, then he called softly-- 'Signorina!' She kept on without pausing. He took a quick step after. 'Signorina, a moment!' She half turned. 'Well?' 'I beg of you--one little favour. There are two American ladies expected at the Hotel du Lac and I thought--perhaps--would you mind writing me a letter of recommendation?' Constance turned back without a word and walked into the house. Mr. Wilder's conversation at dinner that night was of the day's excursion and Tony. He was elated, enthusiastic, glowing. Mountain-climbing was the most interesting pursuit in the world; he would begin to-morrow and exhaust the Alps. And as for Tony--his intelligence, his discretion, his cleverness--there never had been such a guide. Constance listened silently, her eyes on her plate. At another time it might have occurred to her that her father's enthusiasm was excessive, but to-night she was occupied with her thoughts, and she had no reason in the world to suspect him of guile. She decided, however, to postpone the announcement of Tony's dismissal; to-morrow mountain-climbing might look less alluring.