"No," she replied. "I don’t have much time to myself. I hate to go alone, anyway." Fancy looked aimlessly into the top drawer of her desk. "That’s too bad! But I shouldn’t think you’d ever have to go alone. You don’t look it." "Really?" Fancy’s tone was arch. "That’s right! I know some one who’d be willing to chase out there with you at the drop of the hat." Fancy, appearing to feel that the acquaintance was making too rapid progress, said, "I don’t care much for the beach; it’s too crowded." "That depends upon when you go. I’ve got a car out there where we could get lost easy enough. Then you can have a quiet little dinner at the Cliff House almost any night." "Can you? I never tried it." "It’s time you did. Suppose you try it with me?" Fancy opened her eyes very wide at him and let him have the full benefit of her stare. "Isn’t this rather sudden? You’re rushing it a little too fast, seems to me." "Not for me. I’m sorry you can’t keep up. You don’t look slow." Fancy turned to her engagement book. "You must have known some pretty easy ones," she said sarcastically. The snub did not silence him for long. He recrossed his legs, drummed on the brim of his hat, and began: "Say, did you ever go to Carminetti’s?" "No, where is it?" "Down on Davis Street. They have a pretty lively time there on Sunday nights. Everybody goes, you know—gay old crowd. They sing and everything. It’s the only really Bohemian place in town now." "I’m never hungry on Sundays," Fancy said coolly. "Nor thirsty, either?" "Sir?" she said in mock reproof, and then burst into a laugh. "Say, you scared me all right, _that_ time!" "You don’t look like you would be scared easy. I guess it’s kind of hard to call _you_ down." He folded his arms and squared his shoulders. "I don’t know," he said. "I don’t seem to make much of a hit with _you_!" "Oh, you may improve!" "Upon acquaintance?" "Perhaps. You’re not in a hurry, are you?" "That’s what I am!" He went at her now with more vigor. "I say, would you mind telling me your name? Here’s my card." He rose, and, walking over to the desk, laid down a card upon which was printed, "Mr. Gay P. Summer." Fancy examined it deliberately. Then she looked up and said: "My name is Miss Gray, if you _must_ know. What are you going to do about it?" "I’ll show you!" he laughed, drawing nearer. What might possibly have happened (for things do happen in San Francisco) was interrupted by sounds predicting Mrs. Page’s return. "Say, Miss Gray, I’ll ring you up later and make a date," he said under his breath. Then he turned to Mrs. Page and stared her out of the room with undisguised curiosity. "You can see Mr. Granthope now," said Fancy, unruffled by the competition. He made an airy gesture and followed the palmist into the anteroom.