“What did you answer?”
Ban told her. “I think that will hold him off,” he said hopefully.
“Then he’s a very queer sort of reporter,” returned Io scornfully out of her wider experience. “No; he’ll come. And if he’s any good, he’ll find me.”
“You can refuse to see him.”
“Yes; but it’s the mere fact of my being here that will probably give him enough to go on and build up a loathsome article. How I hate newspapers!... Ban,” she appealed wistfully, “can’t you stop him from coming? Must I go?”
“You must be ready to go.”
“Not until Miss Camilla is well again,” she declared obstinately. “But that will be in a day or two. Oh, well! What does it all matter! I’ve not much to pack up, anyway. How are you going to get me out?”
“That depends on whether Gardner comes, and how he comes.”
He pointed to a darkening line above the southwestern horizon. “If that is what it looks like, we may be in for another flood, though I’ve never known two bad ones in a season.”
Io beckoned quaintly to the far clouds. “Hurry! Hurry!” she summoned. “You wrecked me once. Now save me from the Vandal. Good-bye, Ban. And thank you for the lodging and the breakfast.”