"Certainly not in here, Signor."
Desperation lent Maria Angelina sudden fire. "You must be mad, Signor!" she told him fiercely.
"And you madder. You don't think I'm going to stay"—he jerked his head backward—"out in the wet?"
"But naturally. You are a man. It is your place."
"My place—you little Wop! A man! I'd be a dead one." The words of a humorous lecturer smote his memory and with harsh merriment he quoted, "'Good-night, Miss Middleton, said I, as I buttoned her carefully into her tent and went out to sleep upon a cactus.' . . . None of that stuff for mine," and without more ado Johnny Byrd lowered his head to pass under the doorway.
There was a gasp from the interior.
"Ri-Ri, listen to me!" he demanded upon the threshold. "You're raving—loco—nuts! There's no harm in my huddling under the same roof with you—it's a damn necessity. I'm not going to hold hands and I'm not going to kiss you. If you've got any drawn swords you can lay their blades between us. You turn your face to the wall and forget all about it and I'll do the same."
"Signor, stay without!"
"Got a dagger in your garter? . . . Ri-Ri, listen to me. You're absolutely wrong in the head. Be sensible. Have a heart. I'm going to get some rest."
"It does not matter what you say or what you intend. You do not need to reassure me that you will not kiss me, Signor. That will not happen again." Maria Angelina's voice was like ice. "But you are not coming within this place."