"Hello, Frank," she said cordially, looking over her shoulder, "you’re a sight for sore eyes! We don’t see much of you, nowadays." "I’ve been pretty busy, lately," he answered, sitting down and looking about with an expression of ill-concealed distaste. The stuffy, crowded room seemed more unpleasant than ever, after his evening at the Maxwells’. Madam Spoll seemed more gross. Everything that had been familiar to him had somehow changed. He seemed to have a different angle of vision. It was close and warm, and the air smelled of dust. "You ain’t a-going to forget your old friends, now you’ve got in with the four hundred, are you, Frank?" she said earnestly. He pulled out a cigarette-case and lit a cigarette. As he struck the match he answered: "Not if they don’t meddle in my affairs." He gazed at her coolly as he inhaled a puff of smoke and sent a ring across the room. Madam Spoll’s face grew stern. "That’s no way to talk, Frank. I’ve been the same as a mother to you, in times past, ever since you went into business, in fact. It looks like you was getting too good for us." "Why, what’s the matter now?" "Oh, you’re so stand-off, nowadays." He laughed uneasily. "You always said I was spoiled." "Well, who’s spoiling you now? Miss Payson?" "What do you mean?" "You know, well enough! Lord, why don’t you come out with it! It’s all in the family, ain’t it? You’ve got her on the string, all right, ain’t you?" "I have not." The frown grew deeper in his forehead. "H’m!" She drew a long breath. "Well, that means we’ll have to begin at the beginning, then, I expect. I had a sort of an idea that you _had_ got her going, and wouldn’t mind saying so, but if you’re going to go to work and be mysterious, why, I’ll have to talk straight business." She pointed at him with her pudgy finger. "Now, see here, she’s been writing to you, anyways. You can’t deny _that_." "What makes you think so?" "I don’t think anything at all about it; I know. What d’you take me for? A Portugee cook? It’s my business to know all about the Paysons, that’s all. Very good." Granthope looked more concerned, and eyed her suspiciously. "There’s only one way for you to have found that out," he said. "And that reminds me. I want to get those notes I gave you about her when you were up at my place. I didn’t keep a copy, and I’ve forgotten some of the details that I need." Madam Spoll raised her eyebrows, also her shoulders, and made an inarticulate noise in her throat. "Funny you need them so bad all of a sudden. Not that they done us much good—we’ve found out a lot for ourselves; about all we need for the present." "Well, I haven’t interfered with your game, and I don’t see why you should interfere with mine. Only, I’d like those memoranda back, please." His tone was almost peremptory. "I’m sorry, but I ain’t got ’em." "Where are they?" "Why, I give ’em to Vixley."