In the middle of the room, Blanchard Cayley sat with three ladies. One of them Fancy recognized as Miss Payson. Fancy’s eyebrows rose slightly at seeing her, and a smile and a nod were cordially exchanged. The others Fancy did not know. They were both pretty women, well-dressed, with evident signs of breeding, and, as the urn waxed freer, apparently not a little embarrassed at being seen in such a place. Miss Payson showed no such feeling in her demeanor, however much she may have been amused or surprised at the spirit of the place. Blanchard Cayley divided his attentions equitably amongst them, till, looking across the room, he caught Fancy’s errant glance. He smiled at her openly as if challenging her roguery. She boldly returned the greeting. Gay caught the glance that was exchanged. "See here, Fancy," he protested, "none of that now! He’s got all he can do to attend to his own table. I’ll attend to this one, myself." Now, this was scarcely the way to treat a girl like Fancy Gray. At her first opportunity, she sent another smile in Cayley’s direction. It was divided, this time, by members of his own party and the women began to buzz together. Gay was annoyed. "There’s something I like about that man," Fancy remarked presently. "What’d you say his name was? That’s the one we saw at Zinkand’s, wasn’t it?" "There’s something I don’t like about him. He’d better mind his own business," Gay growled, now thoroughly provoked. "You can’t blame any one for noticing _me_, can you, Gay?" Her tone was honey-sweet. "I can blame you for flirting across the room when you’re here with me!" he replied fiercely. Fancy opened her eyes very wide. "Indeed?" she said with a sarcastic emphasis. "That’s right," he affirmed. In answer, she cast another languishing glance toward Cayley. Cayley, despite Clytie’s entreating hand upon his arm, sent back an unequivocal reply. "Well," said Gay, rising sullenly, "I guess it’s up to me to leave!" He reached for his hat. "Oh, Gay!" she protested in alarm, "you’re not going to throw me down before this whole crowd, are you?" Already their colloquy had attracted the attention of the near-by tables. He hesitated a moment. "Unless you behave yourself," he said finally. His tone of ownership decided her. "Run along, then!" She gave him a smile of limpid simplicity, but her jaws were set determinedly. "I expect I can get some one to take care of me. Don’t mind me!" Their discussion had not been unnoticed at Mr. Cayley’s table. Clytie was watching the pair interestedly, as if reading the motions of their lips. Fancy caught her eye and flushed a little. Gay’s brows gathered together in a sullen look as he crowded his hat upon his head savagely. He turned with a last retort: "You’ll be sorry you threw me down, Fancy Gray! You want too many men on the string at once!"