"Then it is for you to make it false, isn't it?"
"If I can."
"I think there is nothing you couldn't do if you tried."
"There is nothing I couldn't do if I had your help," he answered.
For answer, she took the little gold heart-shaped bottle from its
mesh-work and handed it to him.
"You must learn--but perhaps this may help you. Will you keep it?"
He took it and thanked her with his eyes. Then, their dialogue being
interrupted, he moved off. He wandered about, speaking to one and
another for a few moments, gradually drifting toward the hall.
As he stood just outside the reception-room he glanced up the broad
stairs carelessly, thinking of the two ladies to whom he had spoken. He
smiled to himself, wondering if they had yet come down. While he was
watching, he saw a woman at the top of the stairs, looking over the
rail. A second glance showed her to be a servant. She descended
slowly, and, in a moment, beckoned stealthily. He paid no attention.
She came nearer, and, finally, seeing no one with him, called out to him
in a whisper. It was Lucie, Mrs. Maxwell's maid. The moment Granthope
recognized her, he walked into the parlors again, as if he had not
noticed her.
Soon after that he paid his farewell amenities to his hostess and went
up to where he had left his hat and coat. Lucie was in the upper hall
waiting for him.
"Mr. Granthope," she whispered, "may I speak to you a moment? I have
something."
"Not now," he said, passing on.
She plucked at his sleeve. "I've got a great story," she insisted.
He shook his head.
"Shall I come down to your office?"
"Be quiet!" he said under his breath, and went in for his things.
She was waiting for him when he emerged.
"I'll come down as soon as I can get off," she continued.
He shrugged his shoulders without looking at her, and went down-stairs,
and out.
*CHAPTER VII*
*THE WEAVING OF THE WEB*
Madam Spoll was sitting in her study on Eddy Street, awaiting her
victim, when Francis Granthope, immaculate as usual, appeared in her
doorway, having been admitted by Spoll. She was in front of the glass,
pinning on a lace collar.
"Hello, Frank," she said cordially, looking over her shoulder, "you're a
sight for sore eyes! We don't see much of you, nowadays."
"I've been pretty busy, lately," he answered, sitting down and looking
about with an expression of ill-concealed distaste. The stuffy, crowded
room seemed more unpleasant than ever, after his evening at the
Maxwells'. Madam Spoll seemed more gross. Everything that had been
familiar to him had somehow changed. He seemed to have a different
angle of vision. It was close and warm, and the air smelled of dust.
"You ain't a-going to forget your old friends, now you've got in with
the four hundred, are you, Frank?" she said earnestly.
He pulled out a cigarette-case and lit a cigarette. As he struck the
match he answered:
"Not if they don't meddle in my affairs." He gazed at her coolly as he
inhaled a puff of smoke and sent a ring across the room.
Madam Spoll's face grew stern. "That's no way to talk, Frank. I've
been the same as a mother to you, in times past, ever since you went
into business, in fact. It looks like you was getting too good for us."
"Why, what's the matter now?"
"Oh, you're so stand-off, nowadays."