The Innocent Adventuress Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  RI-RI SINGS AGAIN

  She told herself that she was foolish to hope for him so soon. Of coursehe could not follow at once. He could not leave New York. He had work tobe done. She must not begin to hope until the week-end at least.

  But though she talked to herself so wisely, she hoped with every breathshe drew. She was accustomed to Italian precipitancy--and nothing inBarry Elder suggested delay. If he came, he would come while his memoryof her was fresh.

  It would be either here or York Harbor. Either herself or that girl withthe blue eyes. If he really wanted to see her at all, if he had anymemory of their dance, any interest in the newness of her, then he wouldcome soon.

  And so through Maria Angelina's days ran a fever of expectancy.

  At first it ran high. The honk of a motor horn, the reverberation ofwheels upon the bridge, the slam of a door and the flurry of steps inthe hall set up that instant, tumultuous commotion.

  At any moment, she felt, Barry Elder might arrive. Every morning herpulses confessed that he might come that day; every night her courageinsisted that the next morning would bring him.

  And as the days passed the expectancy increased. It grew acute. It grewpainful. The feeling, at every arrival, that he might be there gave hera tight pinch of suspense, a hammering racket of pulse-beats--succeededby an empty, sickening, sliding-down-to-nothingness sensation when sherealized that he was not there, when her despair proclaimed that hewould never be there--and then, stoutly, she told herself that he wouldcome the next time.

  They were days of dreams for her--dreams of the restaurant, of color,light and music, of that tall, slim figure . . . dreams of the dance, ofthe gay, half-teasing voice, the bright eyes, the direct smile. . . .Every word he had uttered became precious, infinitely significant.

  "_A rivederci_, Signorina. . . . Don't forget me."

  She had not forgotten him. Like the wax he had named she had guarded hisimage. Through all the swiftly developing experiences of those strangedays she retained that first vivid impression.

  She saw him in every group. She pictured him in every excursion. AboveJohnny Byrd's light, straight hair she saw those close-cropped browncurls. . . . She held long conversations with him. She confided herimpressions. She read him Italian poems.

  But still he did not come.

  And sharply she went from hope to despair. She told herself that hewould never come.

  She did not believe herself. Beneath a set little pretense ofindifference she listened intently for the sound of arrivals; her heartturned over at an approaching car.

  But she did not admit it. She said that she was through with hope. Shesaid that she did not care whether he came or not. She said she did notwant him to come.

  He was with Leila Grey, of course.

  Well--she was with Johnny Byrd.

  She was with him every day, for with that amazing American freedom,Bobby Martin came down to see Ruth every day and the four young peoplewith other couples from the Lodge were always involved in some game,some drive, some expedition.

  But it was not accident nor a lazy concurrence with propinquity thatkept Johnny Byrd at Maria Angelina's side.

  Openly he announced himself as tied hand and foot. His admiration was asvivid as his red roadster. It was as unabashed and clamant as his motorhorn. He reveled in her. He monopolized her. In his own words, helapped her up.

  With amazing simplicity Maria Angelina accepted this miracle. It wasonly a second-rate miracle to her, for it was not the desire of herheart, and she was uneasy about it. She did not want to be involved withJohnny Byrd if Barry Elder should arrive. . . . Of course, if she hadnever met Barry Elder. . . .

  Johnny Byrd was a very nice, merry boy. And he was rich . . .independent. . . . If one has never tasted _Asti Spumante_, then one caneasily be pleased with _Chianti_.

  Her secret dream was the young girl's protection against over-eagerness.

  To her young hostess this indifference came as an enormous relief.

  "She's all right," Ruth reported to her mother, upon an afternoon thatMaria Angelina had taken herself downstairs to the piano and to aprospective call from Johnny Byrd while Ruth herself, in riding togs,awaited Bob Martin and his horses.

  "She isn't jumping down Johnny's throat at all," the girl went on. "Iwas afraid, that first day, when she asked such nutty questions. . . .But she seems to take it all for granted. That ought to hold Johnny fora while--long enough so he won't get tired and throw her down forsomebody else before he goes."

  "You think, then, there isn't a chance of----?"

  Mrs. Blair left the hypothesis in midair, convicted of ancient sentimentby the frank amusement of her young daughter's look.

  "No, my dear, there isn't a chance of," Ruth so competently informed herthat Mrs. Blair, in revolt, was moved to murmur, "After all, Ruth,people do fall in love and get married in this world."

  "Oh, yes."

  Patiently Ruth gave this thought her consideration and infair-mindedness turned her scrutiny upon past days to evoke some signthat should contradict her own conclusions.

  "She's got something--it's something different from the rest of us--butit would take more than that to do for Johnny Byrd."

  Definitely, Ruth shook her head.

  "You don't suppose she's beginning to think----?" hazarded Mrs. Blair.

  Better than her daughter, she envisaged the circumstances which mighthave led, in her Cousin Lucy's mind, to this young girl's visit. Lucy,herself, had been taken abroad in those early days by a competent aunt.Now Lucy, in the turn of the tide, was sending her daughter to America.

  Jane Blair would have liked to play fairy godmother, to make abenevolent gesture, to scatter largess. . . .

  But she was not going to have it said that she was a fortune hunter. Shewas not going to alarm Johnny Byrd and implicate Bob Martin and disturbthe delicate balance between him and Ruth.

  Lucy's daughter must take her chances. This wasn't Europe.

  "Well, I've said enough to her," Ruth stated briskly, in answer to hermother's supposition. "I don't know how much she believes. . . . Youknow Ri-Ri is seething with Old World sentiment and she may be such alittle nut as to think--but she doesn't act as if she really cared aboutit. It isn't just a pose. . . . Do you imagine," said Ruth, suddenlylapsing into a little Old World sentiment herself, "that she's gone onsome one in Italy and they sent her over to forget him? That mightaccount----"

  "Lucy's letter didn't sound like it. She was very emphatic about MariaAngelina's knowing nothing of the world or young men. I rathergathered," Mrs. Blair made out, "that the family had a plain daughter tomarry off and wanted the pretty one in ambush for a while--they takecare of those things, you know."

  "And I suppose if she copped a millionaire in the ambush they wouldn'thowl bloody murder," said the girl, with admirable intuition.

  "Oh, well----" She yawned and looked out of the window. "She's probablyhaving the time of her life. . . . I'm grateful she turned out such alittle peach. . . . When she goes back and marries some fat spaghetti itwill give her something to moon about to remember how she and JohnnyByrd used to sit out and strum to the stars---- There he is now."

  "Bob?" said Mrs. Blair absently, her mind occupied by her youngdaughter's large sophistication.

  "Johnny," said Ruth.

  She leaned half out the window as the red roadster shot thunderouslyacross the rustic bridge and brought up sharply on the driveway below.With a shouted greeting she brought the driver's red-blonde head toattention.

  "Hullo--where's the Bob?"

  Johnny grinned. "Trying to ride one horse and lead another. Sweet mounthe's bringing you, Ruth. Didn't like the way I passed him. Bet you hethrows you."

  "Bet you he doesn't."

  "You lose. . . . Where's the little Wop?"

  "You mean Maria Angelina Santonini?"

  "Gosh, is that all? Well, you scoot across to her room and tell MariaAngelina Santonini that she has a perfectly good date with me
."

  "She powdered her nose and went down stairs an hour ago," Ruth sangdown, just as a small figure emerged from the music room upon theveranda and approached the rail.

  "The little Wop is here, Signor," said Maria Angelina lightly.

  Unabashed Johnny Byrd beamed at her. It was a perfectly good sensation,each time, to see her. One grew to suspect, between times, that anythingso enchanting didn't really exist--and then, suddenly, there she was,like a conjurer's trick, every lovely young line of her.

  Johnny knew girls. He knew them, he would have informed you, backwardsand forwards. And he liked girls--devilish cunning games, with the sameold trumps up their sleeves--when they wore 'em--but this girl was justpuzzlingly different enough to evoke a curiously haunting wonder.

  Was it the difference in environment? Or in herself? He couldn't quitemake her out.

  He seemed to be groping for some clew, some familiar sign that wouldresolve all the unfamiliarities to old acquaintance.

  Meanwhile he continued to smile cheerily at the young person he had sorudely designated as a little Wop and gestured to the seat beside him.

  "Hop in," he admonished. "Let us be off before that horse comes andsteps on me. That's a dear girl."

  But Maria Angelina shook her dark head.

  "I told you, no, Signor, I could not go. In my country one does not ridewith young men."

  "But you are in my country now. And in my country one jolly well rideswith young men."

  "In your country--but for a time, yes." Unconvinced Maria Angelina stoodby her rail, like the boy upon the burning deck.

  "But your aunt--cousin, I mean--would let you," he argued. "I'll shoutup now and see----"

  Unrelentingly, "It is not my cousin, but my mother who would object,"she informed him.

  "Holy Saint Cecilia! You're worse than boarding school. Come on, MariaAngelina--I'll promise not to kiss you."

  That was one of Johnny's best lines. It always had a deal of effect--oneway or another. It startled Maria Angelina. Her eyes opened as if he hadset off a rocket--and something very bright and light, like the impishreflections of that rocket, danced a moment in her look.

  "I will write that promise to my mother and see if it persuades her,"she informed him.

  "Oh, all right, all right."

  With the sigh of the defeated Johnny Byrd turned off the gas and climbedout of his car.

  "Just for that the promise is off," he announced. "Do you think yourmother would mind letting you sit in the same room with me and teach methat song you promised?"

  "She would mind very much in Italy." Over her shoulder Maria cast alaughing look at him as she stepped back into the music room. "There Iwould never be alone like this."

  Incredulously Johnny stared past her into the music room. Through thewindows upon the other side came the voices of bridge players upon theveranda without. Through those same windows were visible the bridgeplayers' heads. Other windows opened upon the veranda in the front ofthe Lodge from which they had just come. An arch of doorway gave uponthe wide hall where a guest was shuffling the mail.

  "_Alone!_" ejaculated Johnny.

  "My mother allows this when my sister Lucia and her fiance, Paolo Tosti,are together," said Maria Angelina. "I am in the next room with a book.And that is very advanced. It is because Mamma is American."

  "I'll say it's advanced," Johnny muttered. "You mean--you mean yoursister and that--that toasted one she's engaged to have never reallyseen each other----?"

  "Oh, they have _seen_ each other----"

  "The poor fish," said Johnny heavily. He glanced with increasingcuriosity at the young girl by his side. . . . After all, this _jeunefille_ thing might be true. . . .

  "Well, I'm glad your mother was American," he declared, beginning tostrum upon the piano and inviting her to a seat beside him.

  But Maria Angelina remained looking through her music.

  "Then I am only half a Wop," said she. She added, bright mischiefbetween her long lashes, "What is it then--a Wop?"

  Johnny Byrd, striking random chords, looked up at her.

  "What is it?" he repeated. "I'll say that depends. . . . Sometimes it'sdark and greasy and throws bombs. . . . Sometimes it's bad and glad andsings Carmen. . . . And sometimes it's--it's----"

  Deliberately he stared at the small braid-bound head, the shadowy darkof the eyes, the scarlet curve of the small mouth.

  "Sometimes it's just the prettiest, youngest----"

  "I am _not_ so young," said Maria Angelina indignantly.

  "Lordy, you're a babe in arms."

  "I am _not_." Her defiance was furious. It had a twinge ofterror--terror lest they treat her everlastingly as child.

  "I am eighteen. I am but a year and three months younger than Ruth."

  "She's a kid," grinned Johnny.

  "The Signor Bob Martin does not think so!"

  "The Signor Bob Martin is nuts on that particular kid. And he's a kidhimself."

  "And do you think that you are----?"

  "Sure. We're all kids together. Why not? I like it," declared youngByrd.

  But Maria Angelina was not appeased. She had half glimpsed thatindefinite irresponsibility of these strangers which treated youth as atoy, an experiment. . . .

  "And is the Signorina Leila Grey," said she suddenly, "is she, also, akid?"

  Roundly Johnny opened his eyes. His face presented a curious stolidityof look, as if a protection against some unforeseen attack. At the sametime it was streaked with humor.

  "Now where," said he, "did you get that?"

  "Is she," the girl persisted, "is she also a kid?"

  "The Signorina Leila Grey? No," conceded Johnny, "the Signorina LeilaGrey was born with her wisdom teeth cut. . . . At that she hasn't foundso much to chew on," he murmured cheerily.

  The girl's eyes were bright with divinations. "You mean that she didnot--did not find your friend Bob something to chew upon?"

  Johnny's laugh was a guffaw. It rang startlingly in that quiet room."You're there, Ri-Ri--absolutely there," he vowed. "But where, Iwonder----" He broke off. His look held both surmise and a shrewdsuspicion.

  "I--guessed," said Maria Angelina hastily. "And I saw her the firstevening in New York. . . . She is very beautiful."

  "She's a wonder," he admitted heartily. "Yes--and I'll say Bob nearlyfell for her. If she'd been expert enough she could have gathered himin. He just dodged in time--and now he's busy forgetting he ever knewher."

  "Perhaps," slowly puzzled out Maria Angelina, "perhaps the reason thatshe was not--not expert, as you say--was because her attention was justa little--wandering."

  Johnny yawned. "Often happens." He struck a few chords. "Where's thatlittle song of yours--the one you were going to teach me? I could dosomething with that at the next show at the club."

  "If you will let me sit down, Signor----"

  "I'm not crabbing the bench."

  "But I wish the place in the center."

  "What you 'fraid of, Ri-Ri?" Obligingly Johnny moved over. "Why, youhave me tied hand and foot. I'm afraid to move a muscle for fear you'lltell me it isn't done--in Italy."

  But Ri-Ri gave this an absent smile. For long, now, she had been leadingup to this talk and she felt herself upon the brink of revelations.. . . Perhaps this Johnny Byrd knew where Barry Elder was. Perhaps theywere friends. . . .

  "In New York," she told him, "that Leila Grey was at the restaurant witha young man--with the Signor Barry Elder."

  "Huh? Barry Elder?"

  "Are you,"--she was proud of the splendid indifference of hervoice,--"are you a friend of his?"

  Uninterestedly, "Oh, I know Barry," Johnny told her. "Bright boy--Barry.Awful high-brow, though. Wrote a play or something. Not a darn bed init. Oh, well," said Johnny hastily, with a glance at the girl's youngface, "I say, how does this go? Ta _tump_ ti tum ti _tump tump_--what dothose words of yours mean?"

  "Perhaps this Barry Elder," said Ri-Ri with averted eyes, her handsfluttering the pages, "perhaps he is
the one that Leila Grey's attentionwas upon. Did you not hear that?"

  "Who? Barry?"

  "Has he not," said the girl desperately, "become recently more desirableto her--more rich, perhaps----"

  "That play didn't make him anything, that's sure," the young manmeditated. "But seems to me I did hear--something about an uncleshuffling off and leaving him a few thous. . . . Maybe he left enough tobuy Leila a supper."

  "Here are the English words." Maria Angelina spread the music openbefore them. "Mrs. Blair was joking with him," she reverted, "because hewas not going to that York Harbor this summer where this Leila Grey was.But perhaps he has gone, after all?"

  "Search me," said Johnny negligently. "I'm not his keeper."

  "But you would know if he is coming to the dance at the Martins--thatdance next week----?"

  "He isn't coming to the house party, he's not invited. He and Bob aren'tanything chummy at all. Barry trains in an older crowd. . . . Seems tome," said Johnny, turning to look at her out of bright blue eyes,"you're awf'ly interested in this Barry Elder thing. Did you say you methim in New York?"

  "I met him--yes," said Maria Angelina, in a steady little voice,beginning suddenly to play. "And I thought it was so romantic--about himand this Leila Grey. She was so beautiful and he had been so brave inthe war. And so I wondered----"

  "Well, don't you wonder about who's coming to that dance. That dance is_mine_," said Johnny definitely. "I want you to look your darndest--putit all over those flappers. Show them what you got," admonished Johnnywith the simple directness in such vogue.

  "And now come on, Ri-Ri--let's get into this together.

  'I cannot now forget you And you think not of me!'

  _Come_ on, Maria Angelina!"

  And Maria Angelina, her face lifted, her eyes strangely bright, sang,while Johnny Byrd stared fixedly down at her, angrily, defiantly, sangto that unseen young man--back in the shadows----

  "I cannot now forget you And you think not of me!"

  And then she told herself that she would forget him very well indeed.