Not being specially gifted with originality of either thought or expression, Mr. Herbert Cressey stopped Banneker outside of his apartment with the remark made and provided for the delayed reunion of frequent companions: "Well I thought you were dead!"

By way of keeping to the same level Banneker replied cheerfully: "I'm not."

"Where've you been all this while?"

"Working."

"Where were you Monday last? Didn't see you at Sherry's."

"Working."

"And the week before? You weren't at The Retreat."

"Working, also."

"And the week before that? Nobody's seen so much--"

"Working. Working. Working."

"I stopped in at your roost and your new man told me you were away and might be gone indefinitely. Funny chap, your new man. Mysterious sort of manner. Where'd you pick him up?"

"Oh, Lord! Hainer!" exclaimed Banneker appreciatively. "Well, he told the truth."

"You look pulled down, too, by Jove!" commented Cressey, concern on his sightly face. "Ridin' for a fall, aren't you?"

"Only for a test. I'm going to let up next week."

"Tell you what," proffered Cressey. "Let's do a day together. Say Wednesday, eh? I'm giving a little dinner that night. And, oh, I say! By the way--no: never mind that. You'll come, won't you? It'll be at The Retreat."

"Yes: I'll come. I'll be playing polo that afternoon."

"Not if Jim Maitland sees you first. He's awfully sore on you for not turning up to practice. Had a place for you on the second team."

"Don't want it. I'm through with polo."

"Ban! What the devil--"

"Work, I tell you. Next season I may be able to play. For the present I'm off everything."

"Have they made you _all_ the editors of The Ledger in one?"

"I'm off The Ledger, too. Give you all the painful details Wednesday. Fare-you-well."

General disgust and wrath pervaded the atmosphere of the polo field when Banneker, making his final appearance on Wednesday, broke the news to Maitland, Densmore, and the others.

"Just as you were beginning to know one end of your stick from the other," growled the irate team captain.

Banneker played well that afternoon because he played recklessly. Lack of practice sometimes works out that way; as if luck took charge of a man's play and carried him through. Three of the five goals made by the second team fell to his mallet, and he left the field heartily cursed on all sides for his recalcitrancy in throwing himself away on work when the sport of sports called him. Regretful, yet well pleased with himself, he had his bath, his one, lone drink, and leisurely got into his evening clothes. Cressey met him at the entry to the guest's lounge giving on the general dining-room.

"Damned if you're not a good-lookin' chap, Ban!" he declared with something like envy in his voice. "Thinning down a bit gives you a kind of look. No wonder Mertoun puts in his best licks on your clothes."

"Which reminds me that I've neglected even Mertoun," smiled Banneker.

"Go ahead in, will you? I've got to bone some feller for a fresh collar. My cousin's in there somewhere. Mrs. Rogerson Lyle from Philadelphia. She's a pippin in pink. Go in and tell on yourself, and order her a cocktail."

Seeking to follow the vague direction, Banneker turned to the left and entered a dim side room. No pippin in pink disclosed herself. But a gracious young figure in black was bending over a table looking at a magazine, the long, free curve of her back turned toward him. He advanced. The woman said in a soft voice that shook him to the depths of his soul:

"Back so soon, Archie? Want Sis to fix your tie?"

She turned then and said easily: "Oh, I thought you were my brother.... How do you do, Ban?"

Io held out her hand to him. He hardly knew whether or not he took it until he felt the close, warm pressure of her fingers. Never before had he so poignantly realized that innate splendor of femininity that was uniquely hers, a quality more potent than any mere beauty. Her look met his straight and frankly, but he heard the breath flutter at her lips, and he thought to read in her eyes a question, a hunger, and a delight. His voice was under rigid control as he said:

"I didn't know you were to be here, Mrs. Eyre."

"I knew that you were," she retorted. "And I'm not Mrs. Eyre, please. I'm Io."

He shook his head. "That was in another world."

"Oh, Ban, Ban!" she said. Her lips seemed to cherish the name that they gave forth so softly. "Don't be ............