The girl sighed. "I suppose so. How can I tell? I'm only twenty, and it
seems to me that somebody has been trying to marry me ever since I
stopped petting my dolls. I'm tired of men, men, men! That's why I want
to live alone and quiet for a while in the station-agent's shack."

"Then you don't consider Mr. Banneker as belonging to the tribe of men?"

"He's an official. I could always see his uniform, at need." She fell
into thought. "It's a curious thing," she mused.

Miss Van Arsdale said nothing.

"This queer young cub of a station-agent of yours is strangely like
Carter Holmesley, not as much in looks as in--well--atmosphere. Only,
he's ever so much better-looking."

"Won't you have some tea? You must be tired," said Miss Van Arsdale
politely.




CHAPTER VII


Somewhere within the soul of civilized woman burns a craving for that
higher power of sensation which we dub sensationalism. Girls of Io
Welland's upbringing live in an atmosphere which fosters it. To outshine
their rivals in the startling things which they do, always within
accepted limits, is an important and exciting phase of existence. Io had