"Oh, this is amusing enough. What does it matter, anyway? There are as big fools and shams in society as there are in my business. Look at the women that come down here, and the things they tell me! Why, I know them a good deal better now than I should if I were on their calling-lists and took tea with them! But you are right, in a way. I suppose some day I must quit this and take to honest theft." "Don’t say that, Frank! I hate you when you’re cynical." "What else can I be, in my profession?" "Oh, I do want you to quit, Frank, really I do, and yet, I hate to think of it. What should I do? I’d lose you sure! I could never make good with the swells. I’m only a drifter." "Oh, you can’t lose me, Fan; we’ve pulled together too long. You could make good all right. You’ve got a pose and a poise that some ladies would give their teeth for. I don’t believe you’ve ever really been surprised in your life, have you?" "I guess not." Fancy shook her head thoughtfully. "When I _am_ surprised, it’ll be a woman who’ll do it. No man can, that’s sure." "No. I fancy you know all there is to know about men. I wish I did. You’ll do, Fancy Gray!" He approached her and playfully chucked her under the chin. Then he looked at her gravely. "I wonder why you’re willing to drudge along here with me, anyway. You could get a much better position easily—with your face—and brains." "_And_ figure. Don’t forget that!" Fancy shook her finger at him. "Yes." He looked her over approvingly. "No woman ought to be blue with a figure like mine, ought she?" He laughed. "I can’t imagine your ever being blue, Fancy!" Fancy opened her eyes very wide. "There’s a whole lot you don’t know about women yet," she said sagely. "That’s likely." "Am I to understand that I’m fired, then?" She tried to appear demure. "Not yet. I’m only too afraid you’ll resign. It’s queer you don’t get married. You must have had lots of chances. Why don’t you, Fancy?" "I never explain," said Fancy. "It only wastes time." He went over to her again and very affectionately boxed her ears. She freed herself, and turned her face up to him. "Frank," she said, "do you think I’m pretty?" "You’re too pretty—that’s the trouble!" he answered, smiling, as at a familiar trait. "No, but really—do you honestly think so?" Her face had again grown plaintive. "Yes, Fancy. Far be it from me to flatter or cajole with the compliments of a five-dollar reading, but as between friends, and with my hand on my heart, I assert that you are beautiful." "I don’t mean that at all," said Fancy. "I want to be _pretty_. That’s what men like—pretty girls. Beautiful women never get anywhere except into the divorce courts. Do say I’m pretty!" "Fancy, you know I’m a connoisseur of women. You are actually and absolutely pretty." "Well, that’s a great relief, if I can only believe you. I have to hear it once a day, at least, to keep up my courage. Now that’s settled, let’s go to work."