"I have given you my hand," she replied, "and I shall not withdraw it. It is my intuition, you see, and not my reason, that makes me trust you." They relapsed for a while into silence. Then, as the cab turned up into Geary Street, past the electric lights, she went on as if she had been thinking it out to herself. "You know what I said the other day about its being easier to say real things at the first meeting. I am afraid I said too much then. But I was impatient. I felt that I might never see you again and I wanted to give you the message. Now, when I feel sure that we’re going to be friends, I am quite willing to wait and let it all come about naturally. The only thing I demand is honesty." "Is that all?" he asked, with a touch of sarcasm. She laughed unaffectedly. "Are you finding it so hard?" The cab drew up to the curb at the door of his rooms. Immediately she became solicitous, helping him to alight. He used the broom for a crutch, and, scratched and torn, his clothes still stained with clay, she in her harlequin of dirt and rags, they presented an extraordinary spectacle under the electric light, to a man on the sidewalk who was approaching leisurely, swinging his stick. As they reached the entrance he drew nearer, making as if to speak to them; instead, he lifted his hat, stared at them and passed on. It was Blanchard Cayley. Clytie’s face went red. Cayley turned for an instant to look at them again and then proceeded on his way. Granthope did not notice him. Clytie disregarded his protest, and, saying that she would see him safely to his room, at least, accompanied him up-stairs. As he fumbled for his key in his pocket, the office door was suddenly opened and Fancy Gray appeared upon the threshold. Her eyebrows went up and Granthope’s went down. Her eyes had flown past him to stare at Clytie. The two women confronted each other for a tense moment without a word. Fancy had taken off her jacket; her hair was braided down her back. She wore an embroidered linen blouse turned away at the neck, and pinned over her heart was a little silver chatelaine watch with a blue dial. It rose and fell as she drew breath suddenly. "Mr. Granthope has met with an accident," Clytie announced, the first to recover from the shock of surprise. "I should say he had," was her comment, "and you, too?" Then she laughed nervously. "It must have been a draw." Clytie did not catch the allusion. "I happened to find him and brought him back," she explained. "He had fallen down the cliff on Telegraph Hill." As Granthope limped in, Fancy put a few more wondering inquiries, which he answered in monosyllables. Seeing Fancy so disconcerted, Clytie left Granthope in a chair and turned directly to her with a conciliatory gesture.