She arose and slowly drew on her gloves, her mind full of the revelation. He watched every motion with delight. Her brief mood of irradiation had given place to her customary languor, and her fragile loveliness, emphasizing the opposite to every one of his virile, ardent traits, allured him with the appeal of one extreme to another. Most of all, her mouth, wayward with its ravishing smile, enchanted him. It was controlled by no coquetry, he knew, and it moved him the more for that reason. Yet she seemed loath to go and moved slowly about the room. She stopped to point with a sweeping gesture at one side of the velvet-hung wall. "It’s rather too bad to hide the windows, isn’t it?" He smiled at her divination, doubtful of its origin. "You have a very good sense of direction, haven’t you?" She appeared to notice his incredulity, but not to resent it. "Indeed, I have very little," she said; then, giving him her hand with a quick impulse of cordiality, she smiled, nodded and turned to the anteroom. He glanced at the table, saw her ring, and made a motion toward it. Then it occurred to him that it might be used as an excuse for seeing her again and he followed her out. In the reception-room, Fancy was yawning; seeing them, she brought her hand quickly to her mouth and raised her eyebrows at Granthope. He made no sign in reply. Clytie walked up to her impulsively and held out her hand. "I do hope I’ll see you again, sometime," she said. Fancy laughed. "I do, too. You’re the only one who’s ever really appreciated me. You make me almost wish I was a lady." By her tone, there was some old wound that bled. "You’re that, and better, I’m sure," Clytie answered softly; "you’re yourself!" She turned to leave. Granthope, who had watched the two women, amused, opened the door for her, received her long, steady glance, her quiet, low "Good morning," and bowed her out. As soon as she had fairly left, he turned quickly to Fancy. "Where’s Philip?" "In the back room, I suppose." Fancy looked surprised. "Go and get him, please; tell him to find out where this girl lives, and all he can about her." "Say, Frank—" Fancy began, rising. "Hurry, please! I don’t want him to miss her. She’s a good thing!" "She’s _too_ good, Frank, that’s just it!" "That’s why I want her. I don’t catch one like that every day. Why, she’s worth all the rest put together." He looked impatiently at her. Fancy shrugged her shoulders and sailed airily out of the room. Granthope stood for some time, his hands thrust into the pockets of his velvet coat, gazing abstractedly at the red wall of his reception-room. Then he took up the telephone and called for Madam Spoll’s number. He made himself known and then said, "I’ll be round to-night before your séance. I want to talk something over." *CHAPTER III* *THE SPIDER’S NEST*