"It is straight and strong and full of character. And _Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, ... thy teeth are like a flock of sheep ... which come up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins_." "That’s _very_ swell, indeed," said Fancy, "is it original?" He laughed. "No. It’s from one of the oldest poems in the world." "I’d like to read that book." Fancy was getting drowsy. "Tell me some more." "_Thine head upon thee is like Carmel..._" "I’m glad we’re getting into California at last." "_And the hair of thine head like purple;—_" She shook her head, "Oh, no, don’t call it purple, please. Frank says it’s Romanesque." "_Thy neck is as a tower of ivory._" "That’s the _second_ tower," said Fancy, closing her eyes, "I guess that’ll be about all for the towers. I think I’d rather have you make it up as you go along. It’s more complimentary." She laid her head upon her arms on the table. "My ears are really something fierce, aren’t they?" Cayley touched them in investigation. "They’re a bit too small, of course, and they’re very pink, but they’re like rosy sea-shells touched by the dawn." Fancy murmured softly: "’She sells sea-shells. She shells sea-shells—She shells she shells’—say, I’m getting woozly." She roused herself to laugh softly; her head drooped again. "Then I’ll let you kiss them—once!" she whispered. "I’m afraid I talked too much last night," she said to him the next evening. "I hope I didn’t say anything, did if I didn’t quite know what I was doing. Funny how the red stuff throws you down!" "Oh, no, you didn’t give anything away. You’re pretty safe, for a woman." "Coffee’s what makes _me_ talk," she said, "if you ever want to make me loosen up, try about four small blacks and I’ll use up the dictionary." He saw her nearly every day after that, but, even with the aid of coffee, he was unsuccessful in his attempts to make her more communicative. At the mention of Granthope’s name she froze into silence or changed the subject. A few days after the dinner he invited her across the bay to Tiburon where Sully Maxwell had given him the use of one of the dozen or more house-boats anchored in the little harbor. Fancy was delighted at the prospect of a day with him, and early on Sunday morning she was ready at the ferry. As she waited with her basket of provisions, saucily and picturesquely dressed in a cheap outing costume of linen, Dougal and Elsie came up to her. "Hello, Queen," Dougal cried, and he shook both her hands heartily, his round gargoyle face illuminated with cordiality. "Where have you been all this time? We’ll have to try you for desertion. You haven’t abdicated, have you? We’ve been wanting to find you and have you go up to Piedra Pinta with us. The bunch is all up there now; Elsie and I were only just able to get off. Can’t you come along with us?" "Oh, do!" Elsie pleaded, putting her arm about Fancy’s slender waist.