"No, I’m sorry, but I can’t, really; I’m going to Tiburon with Blanchard Cayley." Dougal’s face clouded. "Say, what do you want to run with that lobster for? You’re altogether too good for him." "I guess I’m in love with him," said Fancy, still holding Dougal’s hand and looking up into his face with a quaint expression. "You _aren’t_!" they chorused. "Oh, I am, I am; I’m sure I am!" she repeated insistently. "I’ve liked him ever since the first time I saw him. What’s the use of pretending? Don’t say anything against him, please. I’m so happy—I’m _perfectly_ happy, Dougal." The tears came to her eyes. "I know what’ll happen," Dougal said, his pale eyebrows drawn together. "He’ll play with you for a while, and then he’ll throw you down hard as soon as he’s through with you, or another girl comes along." "Then I hope she won’t show up for a good while," said Fancy cavalierly. "And when it’s over?" said Elsie. Fancy dropped her eyes. "When it’s over—I don’t know." She looked up. "When it’s over I suppose I’ll sell apples on Market Street. What else will there be for me to do?" "Oh, don’t; you frighten me," Elsie cried; "we’re all so fond of you, Fancy. Remember, we’re your friends, and we’d do anything to help you." Fancy stooped down and kissed her. "Don’t worry. Elsie, I’m pretty lively yet. Only you know I don’t do things by halves. I suppose I take it rather seriously." Elsie stared at her. "You’re so different." "Oh, Fancy’ll get over this. She got over Granthope all right, and she got over Gay Summer." The tears surged into Fancy’s eyes again. "Don’t say that, Dougal. I’m no quitter. I don’t get over things. I may bury them and cake-walk over their graves, but I don’t forget my friends." He grinned jovially and wrung her hand till she winced, then he slapped her on the back. "Well, you know where we are when you want us. We’re with you for keeps; you can’t lose us, Fancy, remember that." Fancy squeezed his big hairy hand. Elsie added, "But you’ll be awfully talked about. Fancy, do be careful." "Will I?" said Fancy. "I don’t care. If I like Blan and he likes me, I don’t care who knows it." "Are you going to marry him?" Elsie ventured. "He hasn’t said anything about it—yet—but I’m not thinking of that. All I want is for somebody to love me. I’ll be satisfied with that." "You’re all right, Fancy; only I hope you’re not in for a broken heart," said Dougal. "Just imagine Fancy with a broken heart!" Elsie laughed. "Oh, you don’t believe me, but you will sometime." Fancy’s eyes were not for them all this while. She was watching the passengers approaching the ferry, her glance darting from one to the other, scanning the cable-cars which drew up at the terminus, questing up toward Market Street, and along the sidewalks and crossings. "Have you left Granthope?" Dougal inquired. "Yep." Fancy, as usual, did not explain.