some coins they were
apparently matching. . . . Johnny Byrd's head was flaming in the
sunshine. . . .

"He's a bird from a hard-boiled egg," Ruth said with a smile of inner
amusement.

But whatever cryptic signal she flashed slipped unseen from Maria
Angelina's vision. Johnny Byrd was nice, but it was a gay, cheery,
everyday sort of niceness, she thought, with none of the quicksilver
charm of the young man at the dinner dance. . . . And she was
unimpressed by Johnny's money. She took the millionaires in America as
for granted as fish in the sea.

She merely felt cheerfully that Fate was galloping along the expected
course.

Subconsciously, perhaps, she recorded a possible second string to her
bow.

With tact, she thought, she turned the talk to Ruth's young man.

"And the Signor Bob Martin--I suppose he, too, is a millionaire," she
smiled, and was astonished at Ruth's derisive laugh.

"Not unless he murders his father," said that barbaric young woman.

She added, relenting towards her cousin's ignorance, "Oh, Bob hasn't
anything of his own, you know. . . . But his father's taking him into
business this fall."

Maria Angelina was bewildered. Distinctly she had understood, from the
Leila Grey conversation, that Bobby Martin was a very eligible young man
and yet here was her cousin flouting any financial congratulation.

Hesitantly, "Is his father--in a good business?" she offered, and won
from Ruth more merriment as inexplicable as her speech.

"He's in Steel," she murmured, which was no enlightenment to Maria.

She ventured to more familiar ground.

"He is very handsome."

To her astonishment Ruth snorted. . . . Now Lucia always bridled
consciously when one praised Paolo Tosti.

"Don't let him hear you say so," she scoffed. "He's too fat. He needs a
lot more tennis."

And then to Maria's horror she raised her voice and confided this
conviction to the approaching young men.

"You're getting fat, Bob. I just got your profile--and you need a lot of
tennis for that tummy!"

And young Martin laughed--the indolent, submissive laughter with which
he appeared to accept all things at the hands of this audacious,
brown-cheeked, gray-eyed young girl.

She must be very sure of him, thought the little Italian sagely. Then,
not so sagely, she wondered if Ruth was exhibiting her power to warn off
all newcomers. . . . Was _that_ why she refused to admit his wealth or
his good looks--she wanted to invite no comp