“And I wanted it to be festive to-day,” said Io wistfully, speaking out her thoughts as usual. “Ban, does Miss Camilla smoke?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because if she does, you’ll think it all right. And I want a cigarette now.”
“If you do, I’ll know it’s all right, Butterfly,” returned her companion fetching a box from a shelf.
“Hold the thought!” cried Io gayly. “There’s a creed for you! ‘Whatever is, is right,’ provided that it’s Io who does it. Always judge me by that standard, Ban, won’t you?... Where in the name of Sir Walter Raleigh’s ghost did you get these cigarettes? ‘Mellorosa’ ... Ban, is this a Sears-Roebuck stock?”
“No. It came from town. Don’t you like it?”
“It’s quite curious and interesting. Never mind, my dear; I won’t tease you.”
For all that Io’s “my dear” was the most casual utterance imaginable, it brought a quick flush to Banneker’s face. Chattering carelessly, she washed up the few dishes, put them away in the brackets, and then, smoking another of the despised Mellorosas, wandered to the book-shelves.
“Read me something out of your favorite book, Ban.... No; this one.”
She handed him the thick mail-order catalogue. With a gravity equal to her own he took it.