"
She smiled. "What do you think of her?"
"I hardly know how to express it," he answered frankly, though
hesitantly. "She makes me think of all the poetry I've ever read."
"That's dangerous. Ban, have you any idea what kind of a girl she is?"
"What kind?" he repeated. He looked startled.
"Of course you haven't. How should you? I'm going to tell you."
"Do you know her, Miss Camilla?"
"As well as if she were my own sister. That is, I know her type. It's
common enough."
"It can't be," he protested eagerly.
"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.
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