She turned then and said easily: “Oh, I thought you were my brother.... How do you do, Ban?”
Io held out her hand to him. He hardly knew whether or not he took it until he felt the close, warm pressure of her fingers. Never before had he so poignantly realized that innate splendor of femininity that was uniquely hers, a quality more potent than any mere beauty. Her look met his straight and frankly, but he heard the breath flutter at her lips, and he thought to read in her eyes a question, a hunger, and a delight. His voice was under rigid control as he said:
“I didn’t know you were to be here, Mrs. Eyre.”
“I knew that you were,” she retorted. “And I’m not Mrs. Eyre, please. I’m Io.”
He shook his head. “That was in another world.”
“Oh, Ban, Ban!” she said. Her lips seemed to cherish the name that they gave forth so softly. “Don’t be a silly Ban. It’s the same world, only older; a million years older, I think.... I came here only because you were coming. Are you a million years older, Ban?”
“Unfair,” he said hoarsely.
“I’m never unfair. I play the game.” Her little, firm chin went up defiantly. Yes: she was more lovely and vivid and desirable than in the other days. Or was it only the unstifled yearning in his heart that made her seem so? “Have you missed me?” she asked simply.
He made no answer.
“I’ve missed you.” She walked over to the window and stood looking out into the soft and breathing murk of the night. When she came back to him, her manner had changed. “Fancy finding you here of all places!” she said gayly.