"And that's the whole story, Signorina? That's all there is to it?"

"All?" Maria Angelina echoed bewilderedly. She thought there was enough and to spare. It seemed to her that she had related the destruction of her lifetime.

She stopped. She would not cry again before Johnny Byrd. She called on all her pride to keep her firm before him.

A queer change came over Barry Elder's expression. The light that seemed to be shining in the back of his eyes was bright again. He looked at Maria Angelina in a thoughtful silence, then he turned to Johnny Byrd.

"I don't think you know how serious a business this is in Italy," he told him. "You know, there where a girl cannot even see a man alone----"

"Well, we don't need to cable it to Italy, do we?" Johnny demanded in disgust. "It isn't going to spill any beans here. But it would look fine, wouldn't it, if I came back to the Lodge yelling to marry her?"

"Right you are. That is it, Signorina," Barry Elder agreed very promptly. "That's the way it would look in America. Being lost is an unpleasant accident. Nothing more--between young people of good family.

Not that young people of good families make a practice of being lost,"

he supplemented, his eyes dancing in spite of himself at Maria Angelina's deepening amaze, "but when anything like that happens--as it has before this in the Adirondacks--people don't start an ugly scandal.

They may talk a little of course, but it won't do you any real harm.

. . . And it wouldn't be quite nice for Johnny to go rushing about offering you marriage. The occasion doesn't demand it in the least."

Helplessly she regarded him. . . . She felt utterly astray--astray and blundering. . . .

"Would Cousin Jane think so?" she appealed.

"She would," averred Barry stoutly, over the twinge of an inner qualm.

"And so would your own mother, if she were here."

But there Maria Angelina was on solid ground.

"You know little about _that_," she told him with spirit. "If I were lost in Italy----"

But it was so impossible, being lost in Italy, that Maria Angelina could only break off and guard a bewildered silence.

"Then I expect your mother had better not know," was all the counsel that Barry Elder could offer, realizing doubtfully that it was far from a counsel of perfection. "You had better let that depend upon Mrs.

Blair."

"I tried to tell her all this," Johnny broke in with an accent of triumph.

But Maria Angelina was looking only at Barry Elder.

"Can you tell me that it is nothing?" she said pitifully, her eyes big and black in her white face. "To have been gone all night with that young man--to have been found by you--another young man? Even if the Americans make light of it--is it not what you call an escapade?"

"I have to admit that it's an escapade--an accidental escapade," Barry qualified carefully. "But I don't know any way out of it--unless we all stand together," he said slowly, "and all pretend that you got lost alone and found alone. That's very simple, really, and I think perhaps it would make things easier for you."

"Now you're saying something!" Johnny was jubilant. "Absolute intelligence--gleam of positive genius. . . . She was lost alone. Right after the thunder shower. Missed the others and I went to a high place to look for them and we never found each other. . . . Spent the night searching for her," Johnny threw in carelessly, marking out a neat little role for himself. "That's the story--eh, what?"

"Oh could we--could we do that?" Maria Angelina implored with quivering lips.

"Of course we can do that. Only you've got to stick to that story like grim death--no making any little break about climbing the mountain top and things like that, you know."

"You may trust me," said Maria fervently.

"Leave it to your Uncle Dudley," Johnny rea.s.sured him. "But, look here, Barry, do you want me to die on your doorstep?" he demanded, his hunger returning as his agitation subsided.

"Oh, sit down, Johnny, and I'll bring you something," said Barry at last. "You had better keep your eye on the trail to see if any one else is coming along. Two in a morning is quite stirring," he said deliberately. "I'm sure the fire is still burning--unless you'd prefer to have him perish of starvation?" he paused to inquire politely of the girl, his twinkling eyes bringing a sudden irrepressible answer to her lips.

"Yes, that will be best for everybody's feelings," he rattled on, from the interior of the cabin, referring not to Johnny's demise but to the construction of a defensive narrative. "Each of you wandered about all night alone. . . . Here's some ham, Johnny, and cold toast. There'll be hot coffee in an instant. . . . Now remember you crossed the river just after the thunder storm and separated to try different trails. And you never found each other . . . That's simple, isn't it? And you, Johnny, climbed the wrong mountain and slept in a shack and came down this morning and returned to the Lodge. You must show up there, worried as blazes and tearing your hair," he instructed the devouring Johnny who merely nodded, tearing wolfishly at the cold toast.

"But before you reach the Lodge I will ease the anxiety there by telephoning that I have just found Maria Angelina," went on Barry, using quite unconsciously the name by which he was thinking of the girl.

He turned to her, "With your permission, I shall say that I have just found you, that I have given you something to eat and while you were resting I went to telephone. Does that make you any happier?"

Her answering look was radiant.

"Now, remember--don't change a word of this. . . . Here's your coffee, Johnny. When you reach the Lodge, don't forget that you haven't seen me and that you are still unfed----"

"Unfed is right," said Johnny ungratefully. "Oh, my gosh, I am stiff as a poker. What do you say, Barry, to our doping this out around that fire--or have you got some other little thing in there you are keeping incog as it were?"

Refreshed and unabashed he grinned at them.

But Barry did not offer his fire.

"You'd better cut on before you are discovered," he advised. "It's a long way to go--like Tipperary. And I'll hurry off to Peter's place.

. . . You strike over that shoulder there and down the trail to the right and you'll find the main road. It's shorter than the river.

Besides you can't use the river trail or you would have found me. . . .

Now mind--don't change a word of it."

"Sure, I've got it down. Well, I'll be off then!"

But Johnny was not off. He hesitated a moment, turning very obviously to Maria Angelina, who stood silent upon the doorstep, and it was Barry who took himself suddenly off around the corner of the cabin, with a plate of sc.r.a.ps for the vociferous Sandy.

Embarra.s.sedly Johnny muttered, "I say, Ri-Ri, I'm sorry."

Her expression did not change. She said levelly, "I'm sorry, too. I did not understand."

"I didn't understand, either."

Both stood silent. Then he spoke in a hurried, even a flurried way in a very low tone indeed.

"But I--I didn't mean to be a quitter. Look here, I didn't realize that it was just the look of things you were after and not my--my----"

"Your money, Signor?" said Ri-Ri clearly.

He grew red. "I've got some queer experiences," he jerked out.

"I should think, Signor, that you would."

"Oh, hang that Signor! I don't blame you for being a frost, Ri-Ri, for I guess I was pretty rotten to you--but I wasn't throwing you down--honestly. I was just mulish, I guess, because you were trying to stampede me. And I was fighting mad over the entire business and had to take it out on somebody. If you'd just laughed and petted a fellow a little----"

He broke off and looked at her hopefully.

Maria Angelina gave no signs of warmth. Her eyes were enigmatic as black diamonds; and her mouth was a red bud of scorn. Her dignity was immense for all that her braids had come down from their coronet and were hanging childishly about her shoulders; the loose strands fluttering about her face.