"That’s because I haven’t got such fine eyes," countered Fancy. "I think mine are never so pretty as when they have a little image of you in them." Fancy gave up the duel. "Well, I guess I’d better go quick before you raise that! You play nothing but blue chips, and I can’t keep up!" Clytie walked up Market Street alone. She turned into Geary Street at the group of tall newspaper buildings by Lotta’s fountain, and in ten minutes was knocking at Granthope’s office door. There being no response she descended the stairs, crossed the street and went into the square to wait for him upon a bench beside the soldiers’ monument. There were two young women at the other end of the seat. One, scarcely more than a girl, was pretty, in a demure, timid way; she was freckled and tanned, her clothes were simple and neat. The other was of a coarser grain, full-lipped, large-handed, painted and powdered, with hard eyes and large features. She wore several cheap rings, and her finery made her soiled and wrinkled garments look still more vulgar. Clytie gave the two a glance and took no further interest in them until she caught the mention of Granthope’s name. She turned, astonished, to see the younger woman looking seriously at the other. There was a charming earnestness in her face, and, though her lower lip drooped tremulously, it was not weak; nor was her chin, nor her nose, nor the gracefully reliant poise of her head. "You ought to go see him, Kate!" she was saying. "I tell you he’s a wonder! Why, if I hadn’t gone there I don’t know where I’d be now. I know one thing, I wouldn’t be married. Why, when Bill was out in the Philippines and didn’t write, I thought I’d lay down and die! I waited about two months, and then I took five dollars I saved up for one of them automobile coats they was all wearing, and I went to see Granthope. What d’you think?—he wouldn’t take a cent off me! That’s the kind of a man Granthope is! He said it would be all right and Bill would come back and marry me. But I tell you, I had to do most of the courting!" "You did, did you? Do you mean to say you run after a man like that—without any nose? I never see such a face in my life! If he’d only wear a patch or something it wouldn’t be so bad," commented her companion. "Bill wouldn’t do it; he’s too proud. Nobody’s ashamed of having only one leg or one arm, why should they be of having a nose gone?" "What did you think when you first see him, though? Wan’t it disgusting, kind of?" her companion asked, making a sour face. "Why, I was so proud of him that I didn’t see anything but a man who loved me and who had fought for his country! But it was some time before I _did_ see him, though. He did his best not to let me." "How did you ever find him?"