From these and others he got much; but not
friendship or permanent associations. He did not want them. He was
essentially, though unconsciously, a lone spirit; so his listener
gathered. Advancement could have been his in the line of work which had
by chance adopted him; but he preferred small, out-of-the-way stations,
where he could be with his books and have room to breathe. So here he
was at Manzanita. That was all there was to it. Nothing very mysterious
or remarkable about it, was there?
Io smiled in return. "What is your name?" she asked.
"Errol. But every one calls me Ban."
"Haven't you ever told this to any one before?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Why should I?"
"I don't know really," hesitated the girl, "except that it seems almost
inhuman to keep one's self so shut off."
"It's nobody else's business."
"Yet you've told it to me. That's very charming of you."
"You said you'd be interested."
"So I am. It's an extraordinary life, though you don't seem to think
so."
"But I don't want to be extraordinary."
"Of course you do," she refuted promptly. "To be ordinary is--is--well,
it's like being a dust-colored beetle." She looked at him queerly.
"Doesn't Miss Van Arsdale know all this?"
"I don't see how she could.
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