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Updated: September 27, 2025
Are you going to take me over to Miss Van Arsdale's?" "No." "Why not?" "Why should I? It's no part of my business as an employee of the road." "As to that, I've got a letter from the Division Superintendent asking you to further my inquiry in any possible way. Here it is." Banneker took and read the letter. While not explicit, it was sufficiently direct.
Miss Van Arsdale twisted in her chair, gave one look, rose and strode to the threshold where Io Welland stood rigid and still. "What is it?" she demanded sharply. The girl's hands gripped a folded newspaper. She lifted it as if for Miss Van Arsdale's acceptance, then let it fall to the floor. Her throat worked, struggling for utterance, as it might be against the pressure of invisible fingers.
"Une mariage de reclame," observed Miss Van Arsdale. "Is it that that constitutes his charm for you?" Miss Van Arsdale's smile was still instinct with mockery, but there had crept into it a quality of indulgence. "No," answered the girl. Her face became thoughtful and serious. "It's something else. He he carried me off my feet from the moment I met him. He was drunk, too, that first time.
"I want to go home," wailed Io. "That's good, too. Though perhaps you'd better wait a little. Why, in particular do you want to go home?" "I w-w-w-want to m-m-marry Delavan Eyre." A quiver of humor trembled about the corners of Camilla Van Arsdale's mouth. "Echoes of remorse," she commented. "No. It isn't remorse. I want to feel safe, secure. I'm afraid of things. I want to go to-morrow. Tell Mr.
Even Arsdale was checked by the expression he caught in Donaldson's eyes. He ventured nothing further, but, bewildered, stood there, dumb a moment, before he remembered his message. "I came out to find you," he managed to speak. "Elaine wants you to come back to lunch." "What?" Donaldson paused in his work and searched Arsdale's face. "What did you say?" he demanded slowly.
So for two days Io Welland lolled and lazed and listened to Miss Van Arsdale's music, or read, or took little walks between showers. No further mention was made by her hostess of the circumstances of the visit. She was a reticent woman; almost saturnine, Io decided, though her perfect and effortless courtesy preserved her from being antipathetic to any one beneath her own roof.
Though this had now become fixed in his mind, there was still the scant hope that he had grasped from what he had observed in Arsdale's manner. Given the morsel of a man, and there was still hope. Therefore it was with considerable interest that he watched for some evidence of the higher nature, even if only expressed in the crude form of shame.
"And if she hasn't done any of these things," retorted Banneker, drawing upon some of Camilla Van Arsdale's wisdom, brought to bear on the case, "she's libel, isn't she?" "Hardly libel. But she isn't safe news until she's identified. You see, I'm playing an open game with you. I'm here to identify her, with half a dozen newspaper photos. Want to see 'em?" "No, thank you." "Not interested?
His room was next to Arsdale's room and during the night the latter came in. "I 've had bad dreams about you," the boy exclaimed. "Is anything the matter?" "I 'm not sleeping very well," Donaldson answered. "You haven't a fever or anything?" "No. Just restless." "I have n't slept very well myself. I 've been doing so much thinking. That keeps a fellow awake." "Yes thinking does.
Receiving no response, she mounted the stairs to the second floor. She glanced into each room. In the farther one an article on the floor, which had escaped Donaldson's notice, riveted her eyes. It was an empty pocket-book. It was neither her own nor Arsdale's. Instead of finding relief in this, it drove her back trembling against the wall.
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