Clytie took her hand. "Why don’t you come here and stay with me for a while? I’d love to have you." Fancy gently released her fingers in Clytie’s and did not look at her. "Oh, I wish you wouldn’t be quite so kind to me, Miss Payson; I can’t stand it!" Her mouth trembled; her gaze was serious. "But it would be so kind of you to come!" Clytie urged. Fancy smiled wanly. "I can’t do it, Miss Payson, I won’t explain. I never explain. It bores me. But I simply can’t." "Well, you know, if you ever do want to come—" "I’ll come, sure!" Fancy looked at her now, with fire in her eyes, not flaming, but burning deep. "Whenever I forget what a thoroughbred is like, I’ll come! Whenever I need a teaspoonful of flattery to last me over night, I’ll come! Whenever I want to know how much finer and kinder women are than men, I’ll come! Whenever—" She would have gone on, but Clytie interrupted her. "Whenever you want to make me very happy, whenever you want to do me the greatest favor in your power, you’ll come!" Fancy’s eyes narrowed and twinkled. "I’m all out of breath trying to keep up with you! I give it up. Take the pot!" She turned to the bench and examined the tools in a box. "Ugh!" she commented. "They look like dentists’ instruments!" "I don’t believe _you_ ever had to suffer from them! It doesn’t seem possible!" said Clytie. In response, Fancy engagingly showed her double row of small, white, zigzag teeth. Then, with a sudden access of frivolity, she favored Clytie with an exhibition of her little, pointed tongue, which she erected and waved sidewise. This done, she dropped into a chair again. The sun had returned and visited the room, making a brilliant object of her jaunty figure as she sat under the window. She wore the fine gold chain with the swastika that Clytie had given her. She fingered it as she spoke. "Miss Payson," she said, "I’m going to ask you something that perhaps is none of my business." "Ask what you please," said Clytie, but she looked at Fancy with something like alarm. "Have you seen Mr. Granthope lately?" Clytie shook her head. "No." "Could you tell me why not?" "I’m afraid I can’t, Fancy." "I’m terribly worried about it. I’m sure there’s some trouble. Oh, Miss Payson, I know he’s awfully unhappy. And I can’t bear that!" Clytie walked to the window and looked out, standing there with her hands behind her back. There was a faint line come into her forehead. "I’d rather not talk about it," she said quietly. "But I’m sure that if there is any misunderstanding, I might help you. Oh, Miss Payson, I don’t want to be impertinent, but I can’t bear it to think that he isn’t happy. Can’t you tell me about it?" Clytie turned slowly, a look of pain deepening on her face. "I can only tell you this, that I was mistaken in him." "Mistaken? How?"