Invalidism was certainly not suggested in her erect bearing and serene face as she moved about her stateroom setting in order the books, magazines, flowers, and candy, with which Banneker had sought to fortify her against the tedium of the trip.  As the time for departure drew near, they fell into and effortfully maintained that meaningless, banal, and jerky talk which is the inevitable concomitant of long partings between people who, really caring for each other, can find nothing but commonplaces wherewith to ease their stress of mind.  Miss Van Arsdale’s common sense came to the rescue.

“Go away, my dear,” she said, with her understanding smile.  “Don’t think that you’re obliged to cling to the dragging minutes.  It’s an ungraceful posture....  Ban!  What makes you look like that?”

“I thought—­I heard—­”

A clear voice outside said, “Then it must be this one.”  There was a decisive tap on the door.  “May I come in?"..."Come in,” responded Miss Van Arsdale.  “Bring them here, porter,” directed the voice outside, and Io entered followed by an attendant almost hidden in a huge armful of such roses as are unpurchasable even in the most luxurious of stores.

“I’ve looted our conservatory,” said she.  “Papa will slay me.  They’ll last to Chicago.”

After an almost imperceptible hesitation she kissed the older woman.  She gave her hand to Banneker.  “I knew I should find you here.”

“Any other woman of my acquaintance would have said, ’Who would have expected to find you here!’” commented Miss Van Arsdale.

“Yes?  I suppose so.  But we’ve never been on that footing, Ban and I.”  Io’s tone was casual; almost careless.

“I thought that you were in the country,” said Banneker.

“So we are.  I drove up this morning to bid Miss Van Arsdale bon voyage, and all the luck in the world.  I suppose we three shall meet again one of these days.”

“You prophesy in the most matter-of-fact tone a gross improbability,” observed Miss Van Arsdale.

“Oh, our first meeting was the gross improbability,” retorted the girl lightly.  “After that anything might be logical. Au revoir.”

“Go with her, Ban,” said Miss Camilla.

“It isn’t leaving time yet,” he protested.  “There’s five whole minutes.”

“Yes; come with me, Ban,” said Io tranquilly.

Camilla Van Arsdale kissed his cheek, gave him a little, half-motherly pat, said, “Keep on making me proud of you,” in her even, confident tones, and pushed him out of the door.

Ban and Io walked down the long platform in a thoughtful silence which disconcerted neither of them.  Io led the way out of it.

“At half-past four,” she stated, “I had a glass of milk and one cracker.”

“Where do you want to breakfast?”

“Thanking you humbly, sir, for your kind invitation, the nearer the better.  Why not here?”