“Oh, yes! The type is. She is an exquisite specimen of it; that’s all. Listen, Ban. Io Welland is the petted and clever and willful daughter of a rich man; a very rich man he would be reckoned out here. She lives in a world as remote from this as the moon.”
“Of course. I realize that.”
“It’s well that you do. And she’s as casual a visitant here as if she had floated down on one moonbeam and would float back on the next.”
“She’ll have to, to get out of here if this rain keeps up,” observed the station-agent grimly.
“I wish she would,” returned Miss Van Arsdale.
“Is she in your way?”
“I shouldn’t mind that if I could keep her out of yours,” she answered bluntly.
Banneker turned a placid and smiling face to her. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you, Miss Camilla?”
“I think that Io Welland, without ill-intent at all, but with a period of idleness on her hands, is a dangerous creature to have around. She’s too lovely and, I think, too restless a spirit.”
“She’s lovely, all right,” assented Banneker.