"Unfortunately, yes. I should like to stay, but--" he shrugged--"life isn't all play, Miss Wilder. Though one would like to be a donkey-man forever, one only may be for a summer's holiday. I am your debtor for a unique and pleasant experience." She studied his face without speaking. Did it mean that he had got the letter and was hurt, or did it perhaps mean that he had got the letter and did not care to appear as Jerry Junior? That he enjoyed the play so long as he could remain incognito and stop it where he pleased, but that he had no mind to let it drift into reality? Very possibly it meant--she flushed at the thought--that he divined Nannie's plot, and refused also to consider the fourth candidate. She laughed and dropped into their usual jargon. "And the young American man, Signor Abraham Lincoln, will he come tomorrow for tea?" "Ah, signorina, he is desolated, but it is not possible. He has received a letter and he must go; he has stopped too long in Valedolmo. Tomorrow morning early, he and I togever, we sail away to Austria." His eyes went back to the trail of smoke left by the little steamer. "And Costantina, Tony. You are leaving her behind?" It took some courage to put this question, but she did not flinch; she put it with a laugh which contained nothing but raillery. Tony sighed--a deep melodramatic sigh--and laid his hand on his heart. "Ah, signorina, zat Costantina, she has not any heart. She love one man one day, anozzer ze next. I go away to forget." His eyes dropped to hers; for an instant the mocking light died out; a questioning, wounded look took its place. She felt a quick impulse to hold out her hands, to say, "Jerry, don't go!" If she only knew! Was he going because he thought that she wished to dismiss him, or because he wished to dismiss himself? Was it pique that bade him carry the play to the end, or was it merely the desire to get out of an awkward situation gracefully? She stood hesitating, scanning the terrace pavement with troubled eyes; when she raised them to his face the chance was gone. He straightened his shoulders with an air of finality and picked up his hat from the balustrade. "Some day, signorina, in New York, perhaps I play a little tune underneaf your window." She nodded and smiled. "I will give the monkey a penny when he comes--good-bye." He bowed over her hand and touched it lightly to his lips. "Signorina, _addio_!" As he strode away into the dusky lane of cypresses, she heard him whistling softly "Santa Lucia." It was the last stroke, she reflected, angrily; he might at least have omitted that! She turned away and dropped down on the water steps to wait for the _Farfalla_. The terrace, the lake, the beautiful Italian night, suddenly seemed deserted and empty. Before she knew it was coming, she had leaned her head against the balustrade with a deep sob. She caught herself sharply. She to sit there crying, while Tony went whistling on his way!