40
endor of Mount Carstairs, dim in the wreathing murk.
"Lo! For there, amidst the flowers and grasses, Only the mightier movement sounds and passes, Only winds and rivers, Life and death," he quoted.
Her eyes glowed with sheer, incredulous astonishment. "How came you by that Stevenson?" she demanded. "Are you poet as well as recluse?"
"I met him once."
"Tell me about it."
"Some other time. We've other things to talk of now."
"Some other time? Then I'm to stay!"
"In Manzanita?"
"Manzanita? No. Here."
"In this station? Alone? But why--"
"Because I'm Io Welland and I want to, and I always get what I want," she retorted calmly and superbly.
"Welland," he repeated. "Miss I.O. Welland. And the address is New York, isn't it?"
Her hands grew tense across her knee, and deep in her shadowed eyes there was a flash. But her voice suggested not only appeal, but almost a hint of caress as she said:
"Are you going to betray a guest? I've always heard that Western hospitality--"
"You're not my guest. You're the company's."
"And you won't take me for yours?"
"Be reasonable, Miss Welland."
"I suppose it's a question of the conventionalities," she mocked.
"I don't know or care anything about the conventionalities--"
"Nor I," she interrupted. "Out here."
"--but my guess would be that they apply only to people who live in the same world. We don't, you and I."
"That's rather shrewd of you," she observed.
"It isn't an easy matter to talk about to a young girl, you know."
"Oh, yes, it is," she returned with composure. "Just take it for granted that I know about all there is to be known and am not afraid of it. I'm not afraid of anything, I think, except of--of having to go back just now." She rose and went to him, looking down into his eyes. "A woman knows whom she ca