"Drink with Fancy!" cried Fancy Gray, and the company, Mrs. Maxwell included, did her honor. "Drink with Fancy," she pleaded again, with a pretty, infantile pout, and Clytie knocked glasses with her every time. "Drink with Fancy," she repeated, and Cayley drew closer. It did not, apparently, daunt Clytie. She had accepted Fancy Gray as Fancy Gray had accepted her, and she did not withdraw an inch from her position. The talk ran on, with Fancy always the center of interest. Her sallies were original, brisk, and often witty. Fancy’s brain grew more agile and more bold. Also, her glances played more softly upon Blanchard Cayley. He made the most of them, with an eye on Clytie, awaiting her look of protest. But it did not come. About them the revelry still continued amidst the clattering of knives and forks and dishes. Course after course had been brought on and removed by the hurrying, overworked waiters. Once, a madcap couple arose to dance a cake-walk up and down between the tables. Of the group of eight singers in the corner, three had fallen into a mild stupor, three were affectionately maudlin; two, still mirthful, sang noisily, pounding upon the table. By twos and threes, now, parties began to leave. There was a popular song swinging through the room, accented by tinkling glasses, when Fancy reached out her left hand, and took Clytie’s. "I must be going, now; good night." Clytie held the hand. "Oh, must you? Wait and let us put you on your car, anyway!" "No, I’ll drift along. I can take care of myself, all right." She stopped, and, with her head slightly tilted to one side, looked Clytie in the eyes. "What did you go to Granthope’s for?" she asked. Clytie began to color, faintly. She seemed, at first, at a loss to know how to reply. Fancy prompted her. "For a reading, of course—but what else?" "I don’t know," said Clytie seriously. "Really I don’t." "That’s what I thought!" said Fancy. Then her troubled brow cleared, and she turned to Cayley. "I must say ’fare-thee-well, my Clementine,’" she said. "You certainly came to the scratch nobly. I hope it wasn’t all Miss Payson’s prompting, though!" "Next time I hope I’ll be able to bring you," he answered. "I’m sorry I can’t take you home now." "Who said I was going home?" she smiled. Then she looked at him, too, and spoke to him with a variation of the quizzical tone she had used toward Clytie. "I don’t know what there is about you that makes such a hit with me—what is it?" "The dagoes say I have the evil eye," he replied. She laughed. "That’s it! I _thought_ it was something nice!" Then she rose and bowed debonairly to Mrs. Maxwell and Miss Dean. "Good night, ladies, this is where I disappear. I’m afraid you’ve impregnated me with social aspirations. Watch for me at the Fortnightly!" The collarless youth stretched a glass toward her in salutation and sang: "Good-by, Dolly Gray!" There was a burst of laughter that drew all eyes to Fancy Gray.