"You've heard from her?"
"From Mindle who looks after my shack there. He says she's very ill.
I've got to go out there at once."
"Oh, Ban!"
"I know, dearest, and after all these endless weeks of separation. But
you wouldn't have me do otherwise. Would you?"
"Of course not," she said indignantly. "When do you start?"
"At midnight."
"And your work?"
"I'll send my stuff in by wire."
"How long?"
"I can't tell until I get there."
"Ban, you mustn't go," she said with a changed tone.
"Not go? To Miss Camilla? There's nothing--"
"I'll go."
"You!"
"Why not? If she's seriously ill, she needs a woman, not a man with
her."
"But--but, Io, you don't even like her."
"Heaven give you understanding, Ban," she retorted with a bewitching
pretext of enforced patience. "She's a woman, and she was good to me in
my trouble. And if that weren't enough, she's your friend whom you
love."
"I oughtn't to let you," he hesitated.
"You've got to let me. I'd go, anyway. Get Esther back. She must help me
pack. Get me a drawing-room if you can. If not, I'll take your berth."
"You're going to leave to-night?"
"Of course. What would you suppose?" She gave him her lustrous smile.
"I'll love it," she said softly, "because it's partly for you.
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