"Do you think so?"

"Do I think so! I think it's the damndest spew that ever got into print.
But it sells; millions. It's the piety touch does it. The worst of it is
that Wheelwright is a thoroughly decent chap and not onto himself a bit.
Thinks he's a grand little booster for righteousness, sweetness and
light, and all that. I had to interview him once. Oh, if I could just
have written about him and his stuff as it really is!"

"Why didn't you?"

"Why, he's a popular literary hero out our way, and the biggest
advertised author in the game. I'd look fine to the business office,
knocking their fat graft, wouldn't I!"

"I don't believe I understand."

"No; you wouldn't. Never mind. You will if you ever get into the game.
Hello! This is something different again. 'The Undying Voices.' Do you
go in for poetry?"

"I like to read it once in a while."

"Good man!" Gardner took down the book, which opened in his hand. He
glanced into it, then turned an inquiring and faintly quizzical look
upon Banneker. "So Rossetti is one of the voices that sings to you. He
sang to me when I was younger and more romantic. Heavens! he can sing,
can't he! And you've picked one of his finest for your floral
decoration." He intoned slowly and effectively:

"Ah, who shall dare to search in what sad maze Thenceforth their
incommunicable ways Follow the desultory feet of Death?"

Banneker took the book from him. Upon the sonnet a crushed bloom of the
sage had left its spiced and fragrant stain. How came it there? Through
but one possible agency of which Banneker could think. Io Welland!

After the reporter had left him, Banneker bore the volume to his room
and read the sonnet again and again, devout and absorbed, a seeker for
the oracle.

CHAPTER X

"Wouldn't you like to know when I'm going home?"

Io Welland looked up from beneath her dark lashes at her hostess with a
mixture of mischief and deprecation.

"No," said Miss Van Arsdale quietly.

"Ah? Well, I would. Here it is two full weeks since I settled down on
you. Why don't you evict me?"

Miss Van Arsdale smiled. The girl continued:

"Why don't I evict myself? I'm quite well and sane again--at least I
think so--thanks to you. Very well, then, Io; why don't you go home?"

"Instinct of self-preservation," suggested the other. "You're better off
here until your strength is quite restored, aren't you?"

The girl propped her chin in her hand and turned upon her compa