"Oh!" Clytie’s face lightened as if another person had come into the room. She looked away, as if to greet an unseen visitor. Her hand was raised delicately. "I see." Her voice came suddenly, definitely. Then she stared hard at Fancy. "Oh, Fancy, I’m almost frightened at it! I don’t dare to believe it. Oh, if I’ve made a mistake in suspecting him. If I’ve accused him to myself unjustly, how can I ever bear it! But I saw those notes—" "And you didn’t ask him to explain them?" Fancy spoke very slowly. She did not accuse, she only wondered. "No." Clytie’s tone had dropped low, and she went on, fluttering hurriedly. "I simply went away. Oh, think of it—it was as melodramatic as a play—that’s the way women do on the stage, isn’t it? But you see, I _did_ know awful things about him. Fancy—he had told me, and I suspected more. There was something in the notes about my present to father, and his birthday had only just passed. That proved to me that Frank’s notes had been made recently, I thought." Fancy looked at her with a quizzical expression. "I knew a fellow once who used to call me a marmoset. I guess that’s what you are, you poor dear! Why, Frank told me about your binding a book for your father the day he first came here. You must have spoken of it then." "I did!" Clytie fairly threw out. "I remember it now! And that was _before_—before he really knew me, wasn’t it! Oh, what shall I do, Fancy?" Her look was, for the moment, as helpless as a child’s. "Do?" Fancy repeated, shrugging her shoulders. "Why, the telephone wires are still working, aren’t they?" She spoke a bit dryly. She had done her work, now, and relapsed into a sort of apathy. "And I prided myself on my intuition, and on my fairness!" Clytie went on, unheeding her. "I knew that I saw in him what no one else saw—not even you, who knew him so well, and who wouldn’t suspect him of anything so base as that! To think of my being the victim of such a claptrap trick!" Fancy raised her eyebrows and watched her quietly. "What I can’t understand now, is why you’re wasting your time talking about it." Clytie stared at her, her face still shadowed by her emotion. Then her smile came rapturously. She turned and ran down-stairs to the telephone. Fancy walked to the window forlornly. There she leaned her head on her arm against the pane and shut her eyes, as if she were fatigued. It was black in the west, and the Marin shore was shrouded in the murk. The harbor was covered with dancing whitecaps. The storm was imminent. She stayed there, motionless, until Clytie’s step was heard coming up, then started into life again and gave herself a shake. "He’s coming right up!" Clytie announced. Fancy immediately looked at the blue enameled dial of her little silver watch. "Well, I must be going." "Oh, please stay!" Clytie exclaimed, holding her tightly. "I really want you to, so! It’s you who have done it all."