It was not often that Fancy was embarrassed, but she seemed so, now. "I haven’t. I don’t know why I did—except—they asked me, and I wanted to oblige somebody—and I needed the money. I had forgotten I had told you to go to Flora’s." "Aren’t you going to eat?" Dougal asked. Fancy usually dined at the central table several times a week. Cayley’s attentions were already on the wane. "No, I’ve got free eggs to-night," was the reply. Her eyes had been on the door of the restaurant, and, at this moment, they were rewarded by the sight of Blanchard Cayley, who entered and looked about the room for her. "Well, I’m going to meet my royal meal-ticket," she said, rising and waving a hand at him. He nodded, and came down to her, bowing to several friends on the way, and the two took a table beyond the Pintos. She faced Dougal who made disapproving faces at Cayley’s back. The room filled up. One long table was decorated, with flowers, and a party of ladies and gentlemen from up-town soon came in and took seats there. They began immediately to chatter and look about the walls, commenting upon the decorations. At other tables Fancy saw artists, newspaper men and men about town, who had been pointed out to her before. To some of them she nodded. Cayley knew many more. It was like a great family dining-room. "Well?" said Cayley, in his peculiar tone that made of one word a whole sentence. "I evidently made a hit. I hope you’re satisfied, now." "You certainly brought down the house." There was a sarcastic, almost a surly note in his voice. "I’m awfully sorry things went wrong, Blan," she said. "I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known the crowd was going to be there. I’m sorry now I consented to take part. I hope I’ll never see Vixley again. He was horrid to me." "I’ve seen Vixley. He says Madam Spoll isn’t expected to live." "Isn’t it awful? I didn’t want to do it, Blan, you know I didn’t; I wouldn’t have done it for anybody but you. I don’t see how you can bear to have anything to do with Vixley. Ugh! What _did_ you want me to do it for, anyway?" "Oh, only to find out some things, that’s all. Of course I couldn’t do it myself, could I?" It was evident, now, that he had been drinking. He had not shown it in his walk or in his voice, but there was a slight glaze to his eyes that told the story. He had been abstinent for so long that Fancy wondered at it. He ordered a flask of chianti and poured two glasses. "You oughtn’t to begin again, Blan—don’t!" she said anxiously. "Water’s good enough for me." "Pshaw! Don’t worry, I’m all right. You don’t think I’m drunk, do you?" He laughed harshly. "N—no, but I don’t like it." "Forget it, Fan; nobody ever saw me drunk. I only get confidential, that’s all. _In vino veritas_. There’s a double meaning there. Exoteric and esoteric."