"That," replied Alora doggedly, "is merely my misfortune, and I'm not
going to allow it to ruin all my life."

On Monday morning they had scarcely finished breakfast when Jason Jones
appeared at the hotel, having driven over from the villa in his little
automobile--a tiny foreign contrivance that reminded one of a child's
cart but could cover the ground with considerable speed. They were
sitting on the big piazza when Alora's father came striding up to them
with a white, fear-struck face. In his trembling hands he held the
morning Naples newspaper and without a word of greeting he said
abruptly:

"Have you heard the news?"

Colonel Hathaway rose and bowed.

"Good morning, Mr. Jones," said he. "I do not read the local
newspapers, for my knowledge of Italian is indifferent."

"So is mine," responded the artist, "but I know enough of their lingo
to make out that Italy has entered this fool war. She's going to fight
the Austrians," he continued, his voice shaking nervously, "and do you
know what that will mean, sir?"

"I can't imagine," replied the Colonel calmly.

"It means that presently we'll have all that horde of Germans
overrunning Italy. They'll conquer this helpless land as sure as fate,
and we'll all be burned out and tortured and mutilated in the fiendish
German way!"

"My dear sir, you are frightened without warrant," declared Colonel
Hathaway. "It will take some time to conquer Italy, and I cannot
imagine the Austrians acting as you suggest."

"Back of the Austrians are the Germans, and those Prussians are worse
than wild American Indians," insisted Jones. "If they got their
clutches on my daughter it would be more horrible than death and I
don't propose to leave her in danger a single minute. I'm going to quit
this country. I've come for Alora. We must pack up and catch the first
ship from Naples for America."

There was blank silence for a moment.

"I'm not afraid," said Alora, with a laugh, "but if it means our
getting out of this tiresome place and sailing for home, I'm glad that
Italy's gone into the war."

Colonel Hathaway was grave and thoughtful. The agitation of the artist
seemed to increase with every moment.

"When does the next boat for America leave Naples?" asked Mary Louise.

"Tuesday," said Alora's father. "We've just time to pack our
possessions and leave."

"Time!" cried his daughter, "why, I can pack all my possessions in an
hour. Go home, sir, and fuss around as much as