Her hostess threw a coverlet over her and returned to her own room. When light broke, there was no question of Io's going that day, even had accommodations been available. A clogging lassitude had descended upon her, the reaction of cumulative nervous stress, anesthetizing her will, her desires, her very limbs. She was purposeless, ambitionless, except to lie and rest and seek for some resolution of peace out of the tangled web wherein her own willfulness had involved her. "The best possible thing," said Camilla Van Arsdale. "I'll write your people that you are staying on for a visit." "Yes; they won't mind. They're used to my vagaries. It's awfully good of you." At noon came Banneker to see Miss Welland. Instead he found a curiously reticent Miss Van Arsdale. Miss Welland was not feeling well and could not be seen. "Not her head again, is it?" asked Banneker, alarmed. "More nerves, though the head injury probably contributed." "Oughtn't I to get a doctor?" "No. All that she needs is rest." "She left the station yesterday without a word." "Yes," replied the non-committal Miss Van Arsdale. "I came over to tell her that there isn't a thing to be had going west. Not even an upper. There was an east-bound in this morning. But the schedule isn't even a skeleton yet." "Probably she won't be going for several days yet," said Miss Van Arsdale, and was by no means reassured by the unconscious brightness which illumined Banneker's face. "When she goes it will be east. She's changed her plans." "Give me as much notice as you can and I'll do my best for her." The other nodded. "Did you get any newspapers by the train?" she inquired. "Yes; there was a mail in. I had a letter, too," he added after a little hesitation, due to the fact that he had intended telling Miss Welland about that letter first. Thus do confidences, once begun, inspire even the self-contained to further confidences. "You know there was a reporter up from Angelica City writing up the wreck." "Yes." "Gardner, his name is. A nice sort of fellow. I showed him some nonsense that I wrote about the wreck." "You? What kind of nonsense?" "Oh, just how it struck me, and the queer things people said and did. He took it with him. Said it might give him some ideas." "One might suppose it would. Did it?" "Why, he didn't use it. Not that way. He sent it to the New York Sphere for what he calls a 'Sunday special,' and what do you think! They accepted it. He had a wire." "As Gardner's?" "Oh, no. As the impressions of an eye-witness. What's more, they'll pay for it and he's to send me the check." "Then, in spite of a casual way of handling other people's ideas, Mr. Gardner apparently means to be honest." "It's more than square of him. I gave him the stuff to use as he wanted to. He could just as well have collected for it. Probably he touched it up, anyway." "The Goths and Vandals usually did 'touch up' whatever they acquired, I believe. Hasn't he sent you a copy?"