"We always seem to meet in queer circumstances, Miss Gray, don’t we?" she said kindly. "It’s really most fortunate that you happened to be here at work. I don’t quite know what I should have done, all alone, but I’m sure you will do all that’s necessary for Mr. Granthope, better than I. I must hurry home; father will be expecting me." During this speech, Fancy’s eyes had filled, and now they shone soft with gratitude. "Oh," she said, "I can fix him up all right. It’s only a bad strain, I guess." Granthope watched the two women in silence. "Well, then, I’ll go." Clytie walked to the mirror, smiled with Fancy at the image she saw there, touched her hat and rubbed her face with her handkerchief. Then she held out her hand with a charming simplicity. "I do wish you’d come and see me sometime, Miss Gray!" she said. Fancy choked down something in her throat before she replied. "I will—sometime—sure. If you _really_ want to see me." "Yes, I really do." Clytie smiled again. Then she went up to Granthope. "Good night, Mr. Granthope, I’m sure I’m leaving you in kind hands. I hope it won’t prove a serious injury. And—remember!" Then, bowing to both, she left the room and went down to her cab. Two vertical lines were furrowed in Granthope’s brow. He turned to Fancy with a look that barely escaped being angry. "God! I’m sorry you were here!" "Yes? That’s easily remedied; you only have to say the word." "Too late, now!" His tone was sad rather than cruel. "I hardly expected you to bring home company—" she began. "I’m sure it was as much a surprise to me—" "I’m sorry, Frank, but I had to see you—Vixley was here after you left." He groaned with the pain his ankle gave him and she flew to him and knelt before his chair. "Oh, Frank, I’m so sorry. What can I do for you? First, let me take off your shoe and attend to your foot. I can run out and get something to put on it. It was awkward, my being here—but I don’t mind on my own account, so much. If it embarrassed you, forgive me." "It’s worse than that," he said. "You mean—that you _care_ for her?" "I don’t know what I do mean—but you’ll have to go." She looked up at him for a moment, searching his drawn face. "I will, just as soon as I’ve bound up your ankle and got your couch ready. It won’t take long." "No, I can attend to that myself. I’ll telephone for a doctor and have him fix me up. You must go now." "All right. Just wait till I put on my jacket and do up my hair." Walking off, proudly, she opened the door of the closet and stood before the mirror there, while he, a limp, relaxed figure in the arm-chair, watched her as she unbraided her hair and combed it out in a magnificent coppery cascade to her waist. Tossing her head, she said: "Vixley’s laying for you, Frank! You’d better watch out for him. It’s something shady about the old man’s past, I believe. Anyway, I hope you’ll fool ’em, Frank!"