Maria Angelina's voice died away in sudden sick perception of that betraying pronoun.
Quite slowly, without looking at her, Barry completed the lighting of that pipe to his satisfaction and drew a few appreciative puffs. Then he turned to inquire casually, "And who is 'we'?"
He saw only the top of the girl's tousled head and the tense grip of her clasped hands in her lap.
"If you would not ask, Signor!" she said whisperingly.
"A dark secret!" He tried to laugh over that but his keen eyes rested on her with a troubled wonder.
"And then you got lost—even from your companion?" he prompted quietly.
"Yes, I—I came away alone for he—he refused to go on," faltered Maria Angelina painfully, "and then I seemed to go on forever—and I could do no more. But now I am quite well again," she insisted with a ghost of a brave smile. "If only—if only my Cousin Jane could know that I'm trying to get back," she finished in a tone that shook in spite of her.
"You weren't trying to get lost, were you?" questioned Barry lightly, groping for a cue. There was no mistaking the flash of Maria Angelina's repudiation and the candor of her suddenly upraised young face.
"Oh, no, Signor, no, no! It was only that I was so careless—that I believed he knew the way."
"And was he trying to get lost?"