"Can’t you come and stay with me a while? I thought I might teach you bookbinding and we could work together." Clytie herself was getting somewhat embarrassed. Fancy shook her head. "Sometime I’ll come and see you—but not now." "Well, since Mr. Granthope has given up his business—" Fancy changed in an instant; her frivolous manner fell off. She stared at Clytie in surprise. "Oh! I didn’t know that. _Has_ he?" "Yes, he stopped last week." Fancy’s gaze drifted off to seaward. She was fighting something mentally. She turned her head away also. Finally she said, "I think I understand." "I think not, quite," Clytie answered softly. Fancy’s eyes flashed back at her, brimming. "He gave it up on account of _you_, Miss Payson, I’m sure." "He did, in a way, but it was not altogether my doing." "I know!" Fancy leaned her head on her hand wearily. "You did for him what I never could do." "I’m glad you wanted it." Clytie touched Fancy’s hand, as it lay limp in her lap. Instead of taking it, Fancy moved hers gently away. Then she roused herself. "Oh, I _am_ glad! I’m _so_ glad, Miss Payson. He was too good for that—I always told him so. But you are the only woman who could have done that for him!" "Indeed, you mustn’t think that I did it. He did it for himself." Fancy smiled wistfully. "I know Frank Granthope. And I know the sort of women he knew. I was one of them. And I could do nothing—nothing to help him!" "Ah, I don’t believe it! You _have_ helped him, I’m sure. I know by the way you speak now." "Oh, I know what you think!" Fancy retorted impetuously. "You think that I am—that I was—in love with him. That’s not true, Miss Payson, really it isn’t. I never was. We were good friends, that’s all. I’m not suffering from a broken heart or pining away, or anything like that. No secret sorrow for mine! But what’s the use of trying to explain! It never does any good. I’m glad he’s found a woman who’s square and who’s a thoroughbred like you! Why, Miss Payson, you can _make_ him! I saw that long ago!" She spoke in a hurried frenzy of denial. She seemed to feel the inadequacy of it in Clytie’s eyes, however, and nerved herself again. "You don’t believe it, Miss Payson, but it’s true! I give you my word that he’s perfectly free. Of course, there was a sort of flirtation at first, there always is, you know, but I wasn’t in earnest at all! I’m too afraid of Frank—I’m not in his class. And I know he’s in love with you—I saw it from the first." "How _could_ he ever help loving such a frank, courageous, irresistible girl as you!" Clytie wondered.