"Say," said the man, "was that for you or for me, Blan?" "I expect it must have been for me. Good day." "Something doing? Well, good luck!" Cayley walked briskly out of the room, got his hat, and ran down the front steps. Fancy was already half a block ahead of him, nearing Kearney Street. He caught up with her before she turned the corner. "I’ve been looking for you for three weeks," he began. She paused and gave him a saucy smile. "You ought to be treated for it," was her somewhat elliptical reply. "I’m afraid I am pretty slow, but I’ve got you now. It seems to me you’re looking pretty nimble." "Really? I hope I’ll do." "Fancy Gray, you’ll indubitably do. Won’t you come to dinner with me somewhere, where we can talk?" "I accept," said Fancy Gray. "Are you still with Granthope?" She hesitated for a second before replying. "No, I left last week." "What’s the row?" "Oh, nothing, I got tired of it." "That’s not true," he said, looking into her eyes, which had dimmed. "Cut it out then, I don’t care to talk about it." "I bet he didn’t treat you square. He’s too much of a bounder." At this her face flamed and she stopped suddenly on the sidewalk, drawing herself away from him. "Don’t," she pleaded, "don’t, please, or I can’t go with you—" He saw now what was in her eyes and put his hand into her arm again. "Come along, little girl, I won’t worry you," he said gently. And they walked on. She recovered her spirits in a few moments, but the sparkling of her talk was like the waves on the surface of an invisible current sweeping her toward him. It was too evident for him, used as he was to women, not to notice it. She was a little embarrassed, and such self-consciousness sat strangely on her face. Behind that flashing smile and the quick glances of her eye something slumbered, an emotion alien to such debonair moods as was her wont to express, and as foreign to the deeper secret feelings she concealed. Her eyes had darkened to a deeper brown, the iris almost as dark as the pupils. Cayley did, as she had said, fascinate her. Whether the charm was most physical or mental it would be hard to say, but her demeanor showed that it partook of both elements. She gave herself up to it. He began to play upon her. He took her arm affectionately, and the tips of his fingers rested upon the little, cool circle of her wrist above her gloves. She did not remove his hand. His eyes sought hers again and again, vanquishing them with his meaning glances. Her pulse beat faster. She talked excitedly. A soft wave of color swept up from her neck. "Suppose we dine at the ’Poodle Dog’?" he suggested. "I’m game," she replied; "I like a quiet place where there’s no music." "We can get a room up-stairs where we won’t be interrupted." "Anywhere for mine. I’ve got a blue bean and I’d like to be cheered up."