"Yes," said Maria Angelina half whisperingly.
Had he no memory of her at all? Or was she so different in that wet, muddied blouse, hair streaming, and face scratched—she looked down at her grimy little hands and wondered dumbly what her face might look like.
And then she saw that Barry Elder, having finished with her hair, was preparing to wash her face, for he brought a granite basin of hot water and began wetting and soaping the end of a voluminous towel with which he advanced upon her.
"I can well wash myself," she cried with promptness, and most thoroughly she washed and scrubbed, and then hung her head as he took away the things.
She felt as if a screening mask had fallen and her only thought now was to make an escape before discovery should add one more humiliation to this night of shames.
"You are very good," she said shyly. "I cannot tell you how I thank you. And I feel so much better that if you will please let me go——"
"Go? To Wilderness Lodge? It's miles and miles, child—and it's pouring cats and dogs again. Don't you hear the drumsticks on the roof?"
She hesitated. "Then—have you a telephone?"
"No, thank the Lord!" The remembered laughter flashed in Barry Elder's tones. "I came here to get away from the devil of invention and all his works. There isn't a telephone nearer than Peter's place—four miles away. I'll go over for you as soon as it's light, for I expect your mother's worrying her head off about you. How did you ever happen to get lost over here?"
Helplessly Maria Angelina sought for words. Silence was ungrateful but there seemed nothing she could say.