“What does it matter what he says, my dear?” she interposed. “Do make him drop the subject--he’s talking very wild. I’m going down to see what poppa means--I never heard of anything so flat!” At the door she paused a moment to add mutely, by mere facial force: “Now just wipe him out, mind!” It was the same injunction she had launched at her from afar that day, a year before, when they all dined at Saint-Germain, and she could remember how effective it had then been. The next moment she flirted out. As soon as she had gone Mr. Flack moved nearer to Francie. “Now look here, you’re not going back on me, are you?” “Going back on you--what do you mean?” “Ain’t we together in this thing? WHY sure! We’re CLOSE together, Miss Francie!” “Together--together?” Francie repeated with charming wan but not at all tender eyes on him. “Don’t you remember what I said to you--just as straight as my course always is--before we went up there, before our lovely drive? I stated to you that I felt--that I always feel--my great hearty hungry public behind me.” “Oh yes, I understood--it was all for you to work it up. I told them so. I never denied it,” Francie brought forth. “You told them so?” “When they were all crying and going on. I told them I knew it--I told them I gave you the tip as you call it.” She felt Mr. Flack fix her all alarmingly as she spoke these words; then he was still nearer to her--he had taken her hand. “Ah you’re too sweet!” She disengaged her hand and in the effort she sprang up; but he, rising too, seemed to press always nearer--she had a sense (it was disagreeable) that he was demonstrative--so that she retreated a little before him. “They were all there roaring and raging, trying to make you believe you had outraged them?” “All but young Mr. Probert. Certainly they don’t like it,” she said at her distance. “The cowards!” George Flack after a moment remarked. “And where was young Mr. Probert?” he then demanded. “He was away--I’ve told you--in America.” “Ah yes, your father told me. But now he’s back doesn’t he like it either?” “I don’t know, Mr. Flack,” Francie answered with impatience. “Well I do then. He’s a coward too--he’ll do what his poppa tells him, and the countess and the duchess and his French brothers-in-law from whom he takes lessons: he’ll just back down, he’ll give you up.” “I can’t talk with you about that,” said Francie. “Why not? why is he such a sacred subject, when we ARE together? You can’t alter that,” her visitor insisted. “It was too lovely your standing up for me--your not denying me!” “You put in things I never said. It seems to me it was very different,” she freely contended. “Everything IS different when it’s printed. What else would be the good of the papers? Besides, it wasn’t I; it was a lady who helps me here--you’ve heard me speak of her: Miss Topping. She wants so much to know you--she wants to talk with you.” “And will she publish THAT?” Francie asked with unstudied effect.