"Well?" said Miss Craigmiles, seeming to intimate that he had looked long enough.
"I shall know Mr. Wingfield, if I ever see him again," remarked Ballard. "Whose guest is he? Or are you all Mrs. Van Bryck's guests?"
"What an idea!" she scoffed. "Cousin Janet is going into the absolutely unknown. She doesn't reach even to the Alleghanies; her America stops short at Philadelphia. She is the chaperon; but our host isn't with us. We are to meet him in the wilds of Colorado."
"Anybody I know?" queried Ballard.
"No. And—oh, yes, I forgot; Professor Gardiner is to join us later. I knew there must be one more somewhere. But he was an afterthought. I—Cousin Janet, I mean—got his acceptance by wire at Omaha."
"Gardiner is not going to join you," said Ballard, with the cool effrontery of a proved friend. "He is going to join me."
"Where? In Cuba?"
"Oh, no; I am not going to Cuba. I am going to live the simple life; building dams and digging ditches in Arcadia."
He was well used to her swiftly changing moods. What Miss Elsa's critics, who were chiefly of her own sex, spoke of disapprovingly as her flightiness, was to Ballard one of her characterizing charms. Yet he was quite unprepared for her grave and frankly reproachful question:
"Why aren't you going to Cuba? Didn't Mr. Lassley telegraph you not to go to Arcadia?"