"If you really do not want any one to know that I found you I am willing to hold my tongue. But don't you see what a lot of ridiculous deception that would involve? You would have to make up all sorts of little things. And then, after all, you'd be sure to say something—one always does—and let it all out——"
Maria Angelina looked at him pathetically and a sudden impulse stabbed him to say hastily, "I'll fall in with any plan you want to make. Only wait to decide until you feel rested. Then perhaps we can decide together. . . . And now, if you are really getting dry——"
"Truly, I am, Signor Elder. I am indeed dry and hot."
"Then you'd better make up your mind to curl up on that cot over there and sleep."
"I couldn't sleep."
There was truth beneath Maria Angelina's quick disclaimer. Exhausted as she was, her mind was vividly awake, now, excited with the strangeness of her presence there.
Her mortification at his finding her was gone. He was so rarely kind, so pleasantly matter of fact. He was as gayly undisturbed as if the heavens rained starving young girls upon him every night! And somehow she had known he was like this . . . but he was like no one else that she had known. . . .
Her mind groped for a comparison. For an instant she vainly tried to picture Paolo Tosti doing the honors to such a guest—but that picture was unpaintable.
This Barry Elder was chivalry itself; he was kindness and comfort—and he was a strange, stirring excitement that flung a glamour over the disaster of the hour.
It was like a little hush before the final storm, a dim dream before the nightmare enfolded her again.