"Nor I," she smiled. "I suppose there's some kind of a General Manager over this queer world; but I believe He plays the game fair and square and doesn't break the rules He has made Himself. If I didn't, I wouldn't want to play at all!... Oh, my telegram! I must wire my aunt in New York. I'll tell her that I've stopped off to visit friends, if you don't object to that description as being too compromising," she added mischievously. She accepted a pad which he handed her and sat at the table, pondering. "Mr. Banneker," she said after a moment. "Well?" "If the telegram goes from here, will it be headed by the name of the station?" "Yes." "So that inquiry might be made here for me?" "It might, certainly." "But I don't want it to be. Couldn't you leave off the station?" "Not very well." "Just for me?" she wheedled. "For your guest that you've been so insistent on keeping," she added slyly. "The message wouldn't be accepted." "Oh, dear! Then I won't send it." "If you don't notify your family, I must report you to the company." "What an irritating sense of duty you have! It must be dreadful to be afflicted that way. Can't you suggest something?" she flashed. "Won't you do a _thing_ to help me stay? I believe you don't want me, after all." "If the up-train gets through this evening, I'll give your wire to the engineer and he'll transmit it from any office you say." Childlike with pleasure she clapped her hands. "Of course! Give him this, will you?" From a bag at her wrist she extracted a five-dollar bill. "By the way, if I'm to be a guest I must be a paying guest, of course." "You can pay for a cot that I'll get in town," he agreed, "and your share of the food." "But the use of the house, and--and all the trouble I'm making you," she said doubtfully. "I ought to pay for that." "Do you think so?" He looked at her with a peculiar expression which, however, was not beyond the power of her intuition to interpret. "No; I don't," she declared. Banneker answered her smile with his own, as he resumed his dish-wiping. Io wrote out her telegram with care. Her next observation startled the agent. "Are you, by any chance, married?" "No; I'm not. What makes you ask that?" "There's been a woman in here before." Confusedly his thoughts flew back to Carlotta. But the Mexican girl had never been in the shack. He was quite absurdly and inexplicably glad now that she had not. "A woman?" he said. "Why do you think so?" "Something in the arrangement of the place. That hanging, yonder. And that little vase--it's good, by the way. The way that Navajo is placed on the door. One feels it." "It's true. A friend of mine came here one day and turned everything topsy-turvy." "I'm not asking questions just for curiosity. But is that the reason you didn't want me to stay?" He laughed, thinking of Miss Van Arsdale. "Heavens, no! Wait till you meet her. She's a very wonderful person; but--" "Meet her? Does she live near here, then?" "A few miles away."