Clytie stepped in front of her. Fancy suddenly looked up. There was a moment when her face was like that of a child awakened from sleep, then, in a flash Fancy was alive again. First, confusion, then a look of pain, lastly an expectant, almost a suspicious expression passed over her face. "Why, Miss Payson!" Fancy sat erect, and, by her tone, was immediately upon the defensive, waiting to find out what her welcome might be. "Won’t you sit down?" "Good morning, Miss Gray!" Clytie’s voice was low and sympathetic. Fancy took the proffered hand, grasped it for a brief moment and let it drop. Then she waited for Clytie to give her her cue. The eyes of the two women, having met, lingered without conflict. The serenity in Clytie’s face melted Fancy’s into a smile. A faint glow of pink began to creep up Clytie’s neck and mantle her cheek. She took a seat. "I’m so glad I found you," she began. "I had a queer feeling that I should meet some one pleasant, though I didn’t know who it would be." What was it that reassured Fancy? No man could have told. But that whatever fears she had entertained were dispelled was evident by the way her face softened, by the way her dimples came, by the way a saucy, amiable sprite looked from her eyes. "I’m sorry I’m just out of blushes," she said, rallying swiftly, "but I’m as delighted as if I had as pretty a one as yours. Did you really want to see me?" "I’ve been wanting to see you for some time." "Why?" "I’ve been thinking about you." "Think of your wasting your time on me! Why, any one with your brains could think me to a finish in five minutes." "I wanted to tell you something." "I _hope_ it’s something sacred," said Fancy with a twinkle in her eyes. "I love to have people tell me their most sacred thoughts." She smiled like a spoiled child. This was too much for Clytie, who laughed aloud. But she persisted. "I hope you won’t think I’m trying to patronize you—" "You look awfully pretty when you’re patronizing; I don’t mind it a bit." "I’m afraid it’s no use, you’re incorrigible." "That’s a dandy word. I never thought of that. May I use it?" "_Will_ you be serious?" "You mustn’t mind me," Fancy said. "I never could do that running throb in my voice. I’ve lost lots of things by not being able to cry to order. But I’ll listen. What is it?" "I know you’ve left Mr. Granthope’s office." "Oh, yes. I got tired of the routine there. It’s awful to sit and watch women who come to hear themselves talked about. It got on my nerves. So I told Frank I’d have to quit or tell them the straight truth about themselves." Clytie looked at her curiously for a moment. Fancy turned away from her glance. Clytie went on: "I wanted to see if I couldn’t get you a position—perhaps with my father." "Thank you, but I guess not." Fancy cast her eyes down. "I don’t care to go to work just yet—I’m going to drift a while—it’s awfully kind of you, though."