dy Julietta and Lucia and the Palazzo, even Papa and
dear, dear Mamma, appeared strangely unreal--like a vanished spell--and
only this night was real and this strange expectant stir in her.

And then she fell asleep and dreamed that Barry Elder was advancing to
her across the long drawing-room of the Palazzo Santonini and as she
turned to receive him Lucia stepped between, saying, "He is for me,
instead of Paolo Tosti," and behold! Lucia's eyes were as blue as the
sea and Lucia's hair was as golden as amber and her face was the face of
the girl in the restaurant.

CHAPTER III

LUNCHEON AT THE LODGE

Wilderness Lodge, Cousin Jane had said, was a simple little place in the
mountains, not a hotel but rather a club house where only certain people
could go, and Maria Angelina had pictured a white stucco pension-hotel
set against some background like the bare, bright hills of Italy.

She found a green smother of forest, an ocean of greenness with emerald
crests rising higher and higher like giant waves, and at the end of the
long motor trip the Lodge at last disclosed itself as a low, dark,
rambling building, set in a clearing behind a blue bend of sudden river.

And built of logs! Did people of position live yet in logs in America?
demanded the girl's secret astonishment as the motor whirled across the
rustic bridge and stopped before the wide steps of a veranda full of
people.

Springing down the steps, two at a time, came a tall, short-skirted girl
in white.

"Dad--you came, too!" she cried. "Oh, that's bully. You must enter the
tournament--Mother, did you remember about the cup and the--you know?
What we talked of for the booby?"

She had a loud, gay voice like a boy's and as Maria was drawn into the
commotion of greetings, she opened wide, half-intimidated eyes at the
bigness and brownness of this Cousin Ruth.

She had expected Heaven knows what of incredible charm in the girl who
had detached the Signor Bobby Martin from the siren Leila. Her instant
wonder was succeeded by a sensation of gay relief. After all, these
things went by chance and favor. . . . And if Bobby Martin could prefer
this brown young girl to that vision at the restaurant why then--then
perhaps there was also a chance for--what was it the young Signor Elder
had called her? A _petite brune_ wrapped in cotton wool.

These thoughts flashed through her as one thought as she followed her
three cousins across the wide verandas, full of