ay gave upon
the wide hall where a guest was shuffling the mail.

"_Alone!_" ejaculated Johnny.

"My mother allows this when my sister Lucia and her fiance, Paolo Tosti,
are together," said Maria Angelina. "I am in the next room with a book.
And that is very advanced. It is because Mamma is American."

"I'll say it's advanced," Johnny muttered. "You mean--you mean your
sister and that--that toasted one she's engaged to have never really
seen each other----?"

"Oh, they have _seen_ each other----"

"The poor fish," said Johnny heavily. He glanced with increasing
curiosity at the young girl by his side. . . . After all, this _jeune
fille_ thing might be true. . . .

"Well, I'm glad your mother was American," he declared, beginning to
strum upon the piano and inviting her to a seat beside him.

But Maria Angelina remained looking through her music.

"Then I am only half a Wop," said she. She added, bright mischief
between her long lashes, "What is it then--a Wop?"

Johnny Byrd, striking random chords, looked up at her.

"What is it?" he repeated. "I'll say that depends. . . . Sometimes it's
dark and greasy and throws bombs. . . . Sometimes it's bad and glad and
sings Carmen. . . . And sometimes it's--it's----"

Deliberately he stared at the small braid-bound head, the shadowy dark
of the eyes, the scarlet curve of the small mouth.

"Sometimes it's just the prettiest, youngest----"

"I am _not_ so young," said Maria Angelina indignantly.

"Lordy, you're a babe in arms."

"I am _not_." Her defiance was furious. It had a twinge of
terror--terror lest they treat her everlastingly as child.

"I am eighteen. I am but a year and three months younger than Ruth."

"She's a kid," grinned Johnny.

"The Signor Bob Martin does not think so!"

"The Signor Bob Martin is nuts on that particular kid. And he's a kid
himself."

"And do you think that you are----?"

"Sure. We're all kids together. Why not? I like it," declared young
Byrd.

But Maria Angelina was not appeased. She had half glimpsed that
indefinite irresponsibility of these strangers which treated youth as a
toy, an experiment. . . .

"And is the Signorina Leila Grey," said she suddenly, "is she, also, a
kid?"

Roundly Johnny opened his eyes. His face presented a curious stolidity
of look, as if a protection against some unforeseen attack. At the same
time it was streaked with humor.

"Now where," said he, "did you get that?"

"Is she," the gi