"They say?--What do they say?--Let
them say!" might have been her device, too genuinely expressive of her
to be consciously contemptuous. Where another might have suffered in
reputation by constant companionship with a man as brilliant, as
conspicuous, as phenomenal of career as Errol Banneker, Io passed on her
chosen way, serene and scatheless.
Tongues wagged, indeed; whispers spread; that was inevitable. But to
this Io was impervious. When Banneker, troubled lest any breath should
sully her reputation who was herself unsullied, in his mind, would have
advocated caution, she refused to consent.
"Why should I skulk?" she said. "I'm not ashamed."
So they met and lunched or dined at the most conspicuous restaurants,
defying Scandal, whereupon Scandal began to wonder whether, all things
considered, there were anything more to it than one of those flirtations
which, after a time of faithful adherence, become standardized into
respectability and a sort of tolerant recognition. What, after all, is
respectability but the brand of the formalist upon standardization?
With the distaste and effort which Ban always felt in mentioning her
husband's name to Io, he asked her one day about any possible danger
from Eyre.
"No," she said with assurance.
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