"Well, since Mr. Granthope has given up his business--"
Fancy changed in an instant; her frivolous manner fell off. She stared
at Clytie in surprise.
"Oh! I didn't know that. _Has_ he?"
"Yes, he stopped last week."
Fancy's gaze drifted off to seaward. She was fighting something
mentally. She turned her head away also. Finally she said, "I think I
understand."
"I think not, quite," Clytie answered softly.
Fancy's eyes flashed back at her, brimming. "He gave it up on account
of _you_, Miss Payson, I'm sure."
"He did, in a way, but it was not altogether my doing."
"I know!" Fancy leaned her head on her hand wearily. "You did for him
what I never could do."
"I'm glad you wanted it." Clytie touched Fancy's hand, as it lay limp
in her lap.
Instead of taking it, Fancy moved hers gently away. Then she roused
herself. "Oh, I _am_ glad! I'm _so_ glad, Miss Payson. He was too
good for that--I always told him so. But you are the only woman who
could have done that for him!"
"Indeed, you mustn't think that I did it. He did it for himself."
Fancy smiled wistfully. "I know Frank Granthope. And I know the sort of
women he knew. I was one of them. And I could do nothing--nothing to
help him!"
"Ah, I don't believe it! You _have_ helped him, I'm sure. I know by
the way you speak now."
"Oh, I know what you think!" Fancy retorted impetuously. "You think
that I am--that I was--in love with him. That's not true, Miss Payson,
really it isn't. I never was. We were good friends, that's all. I'm
not suffering from a broken heart or pining away, or anything like that.
No secret sorrow for mine! But what's the use of trying to explain! It
never does any good. I'm glad he's found a woman who's square and who's
a thoroughbred like you! Why, Miss Payson, you can _make_ him! I saw
that long ago!"
She spoke in a hurried frenzy of denial. She seemed to feel the
inadequacy of it in Clytie's eyes, however, and nerved herself again.
"You don't believe it, Miss Payson, but it's true! I give you my word
that he's perfectly free. Of course, there was a sort of flirtation at
first, there always is, you know, but I wasn't in earnest at all! I'm
too afraid of Frank--I'm not in his class. And I know he's in love with
you--I saw it from the first."
"How _could_ he ever help loving such a frank, courageous, irresistible
girl as you!" Clytie wondered.
"Miss Payson," Fancy said, avoiding her eyes, "there's a man I'm simply
crazy about--I wish I could tell you more, but I can't explain. I never
explain. But you can be sure that there's nothing doing with Frank, at
any rate. I didn't intend to breathe it to a soul, but I know I can
trust you--I'm really--" she drew a quick breath and her eyelids
fluttered--"I'm--engaged, Miss Payson!"
Clytie was wearing, that day, a little gold chain from which hung a tiny
swastika. As she listened, she unfastened it and took it off and threw
it about Fancy's neck. Fancy stopped in surprise.
"Won't you let me give you this?" Clytie said eagerly. "Don't ask me
why--I want you to have it and keep it for my sake. You know I have
more jewelry than I can wear, but I have always been very fond of this
little chain. It belonged to my mother."
Fancy's eyes filled suddenly and her lips parted. Her hand flew up to
caress the chain affectionately. Then she cast down her eyes and a timid
smile trembled on her lips.
"I accept!" said Fancy Gray.
As she looked off at the water she lifted the chain softly to her lips
and kissed it. Then, loosening the collar of her waist, she allowed the
chain to drop inside to hang touching her warm pink breast.
Then slowly she turned her head and showed Clytie a new expression,
childlike, demure, embarrassed. Her eyes, fluttering, went from Clytie's
eyes to Clytie's hair, to her slender, gracile hands. Then, with a
wistful emphasis, she said:
"Miss Payson, do you think I'm pretty?"
There was no need, this time, for her to define the adjective.
"Do you want me to tell you exactly?" Clytie answered. "I never saw a
woman yet to whom I couldn't tell her best points better than she could
herself."
Fancy nestled a little nearer, warming herself at Clytie's smile. "I
guess I can stand it. I'll try to be brave," she said.
Clytie looked her over critically.
"First, I'd say that your ears are the most deliciously shaped,
cream-white, and the lobes are pure pink with a dab of carmine laid on
as if with a brush. The hair behind them has curls like little claws
clutching at your neck--and I don't blame them! Your cheeks look as if
a rose-leaf had just been pressed against them."
"I believe I'm going to get the truth at last," Fancy murmured. "Oh, it
takes a woman, don't it!" In spite of this jaunty speech the pink had
grown to scarlet in her cheeks, and she turned her eyes away in a
delighted, flattered embarrassment.
"Then, your mouth has a charming little dent at each corner, and your
lips curve in a perfect bow, and the nick above is just deep and strong
enough for a baby to want to put his little finger into. Your nose is
fine and straight and delicate--I can see the light through the bridge
of it, the skin is so transparent--like mother-o'-pearl. Your eyes are
clear and child-like and the rarest, deepest, pellucid brown. There's a
moist purple shadow above them, and a warmer brown tone below. Your
lids crinkle and narrow your eyes like a kitten's. Your hands are as
dewy-delicate as flowers--white above, faint rose in the palm, deepening
almost to strawberry in the finger-tips."
Fancy had laid her head on her arm, upon the railing. When she at last
lifted her eyes the tears trickled comically down her cheeks. "That's
the first time a woman ever feazed me!" she said, snuffing, and feeling
for her handkerchief. "I'll have to appoint you Court Flatterer!" She
explained the sovereignty that she enjoyed amongst the Pintos. Clytie,
amused, accepted the distinction conferred upon her.
Their talk ran on till the boat passed under the lee of Goat Island. It
rose, a bare, bleak slope of hillside on the starboard side. Fancy
watched the waters curdling below.
"Ugh!" she exclaimed. "It looks cold, don't it! I'd hate to be down
there; it's so wet. Isn't it funny that suicides always jump overboard
right opposite Goat Island? There seems to be some fascination about
this place. And the bodies are never found. I suppose they drift out
through the Gate. The tide runs awfully strong here, they say."
She removed her gaze with an effort, adding, "I hate to think of it!
Let's come forward."
They rose and went to the space of deck below the pilot-house and stood
by the rail. Already the tourists and emigrants were there, eager for a
first glimpse of the city. San Francisco stretched before them, a long,
pearl-gray peninsula, its profile undulating in a continuous series of
hills. Along the water front was a melee of shipping; behind, the
houses rose to the heaving, irregular sky-line where the blue was deep
and cloudless. The streets showed as gashes, blocking the town off into
parallel divisions. A few tall towers broke the monotony of the huddled,
colorless buildings. They passed a ferry-boat bound for Oakland, and a
foreign man-of-war lying at anchor, nosed by busy launches. The
_Piedmont_ rang down to half-speed, then the vibrations of the paddle
wheels stopped as she shot into the slip. There was a surge of
back-water, a rattling of chains and ratchets, the cables were fastened
and the apron lowered. The crowd surged forward and poured off the boat.
At the front of the Ferry Building Fancy stopped, offering her hand.
"Good-by," she said genially. "You've done me more good than a Picon
punch. I'm going home to wear my looking-glass out."
"You'll never see half I do," Clytie replied, shaking her head.
"That's because I haven't got such fine eyes," countered Fancy.
"I think mine are never so pretty as when they have a little image of
you in them."
Fancy gave up the duel. "Well, I guess I'd better go quick before you
raise that! You play nothing but blue chips, and I can't keep up!"
Clytie walked up Market Street alone. She turned into Geary Street at
the group of tall newspaper buildings by Lotta's fountain, and in ten
minutes was knocking at Granthope's office door. There being no
response she descended the stairs, crossed the street and went into the
square to wait for him upon a bench beside the soldiers' monument.
There were two young women at the other end of the seat. One, scarcely
more than a girl, was pretty, in a demure, timid way; she was freckled
and tanned, her clothes were simple and neat. The other was of a
coarser grain, full-lipped, large-handed, painted and powdered, with
hard eyes and large features. She wore several cheap rings, and her
finery made her soiled and wrinkled garments look still more vulgar.
Clytie gave the two a glance and took no further interest in them until
she caught the mention of Granthope's name.
She turned, astonished, to see the younger woman looking seriously at
the other. There was a charming earnestness in her face, and, though
her lower lip drooped tremulously, it was not weak; nor was her chin,
nor her nose, nor the gracefully reliant poise of her head.
"You ought to go see him, Kate!" she was saying. "I tell you he's a
wonder! Why, if I hadn't gone there I don't know where I'd be now. I
know one thing, I wouldn't be married. Why, when Bill was out in the
Philippines and didn't write, I thought I'd lay down and die! I waited
about two months, and then I took five dollars I saved up for one of
them automobile coats they was all wearing, and I went to see Granthope.
What d'you think?--he wouldn't take a cent off me! That's the kind of a
man Granthope is! He said it would be all right and Bill would come back
and marry me. But I tell you, I had to do most of the courting!"
"You did, did you? Do you mean to say you run after a man like
that--without any nose? I never see such a face in my life! If he'd
only wear a patch or something it wouldn't be so bad," commented her
companion.
"Bill wouldn't do it; he's too proud. Nobody's ashamed of having only
one leg or one arm, why should they be of having a nose gone?"
"What did you think when you first see him, though? Wan't it
disgusting, kind of?" her companion asked, making a sour face.
"Why, I was so proud of him that I didn't see anything but a man who
loved me and who had fought for his country! But it was some time
before I _did_ see him, though. He did his best not to let me."
"How did you ever find him?"
"Why, finally Mr. Granthope located Bill down at Santa Barbara. He was
working as a gardener on a place a little ways out of town. Bill's
captain give me the money to get down there. I guess I cried pretty
near all the way, thinking of Bill hiding out like a yellow dog without
any friends. Finally I found the place. Bill was living up in a room
over the stable."
She paused. "Go on!" said her companion. The woman's voice had changed
somewhat. There was something more than curiosity in its tone.
Fleurette was looking down, now, fingering her jacket. Suddenly she
began to breathe heavily.
"Bill had a little dog named Dot. A fox terrier, it was. Bill says he
thought it was the only living thing that didn't despise him on account
of his looks. He was awful fond of Dot. So was I, you bet. Dot's dead,
now." She put a handkerchief to her eyes.
"Well, I was dead tired. I'd walked all the way from the station. I
was pretty hungry, too. I couldn't afford to get dinner on the train,
and I couldn't wait to stop to eat in Santa Barbara. And I was good and
trembly--because--well, I hadn't seen Bill for over a year. I stumbled
up the stairs and knocked on the door, and when Bill heard my voice he
wouldn't let me in. I heard him groan--O, God! it almost broke my
heart! He called through the door for me to go away. He said he didn't
love me any more. Of course I knew he was lying. I didn't know what to
do. Bill's got an awful strong will. I didn't know how to make him
believe I didn't care how he looked. I just sat down on the stairs and
begun to cry. Then Dot begun to whine and scratch on the door. Bill
couldn't stand _that_. He swore at him and kicked him. It was the only
time he ever struck him, but Dot _wouldn't_ budge and kept scratching on
the door. It was terrible. So Bill wrapped a towel round his face and
opened the door. I just fell in his arms. But he put me away from him
and said he wouldn't curse my life, and that I must go away."
The other girl was staring at her, awed. "What did you do?" she
whispered.
"Oh, I ran up to him again, and pulled off the towel and I kissed him."
She spoke almost impersonally.
Kate kindled, now. "Oh, Fleurette, did you? Gee, you were game!" She
giggled somewhat hysterically. "Lucky his mouth wasn't shot off, wasn't
it?"
Fleurette gazed off across the green and spoke as to one who knew not of
life's realities, saying, simply:
"Oh, I didn't kiss him on the mouth, Kate--there was plenty of time for
that! I kissed him right where that Moro bullet had wounded him!"
Kate shook her head slowly. "I guess you done right!" she said. Then,
"Say, I'd like to see Bill again, Fleurette."
Clytie arose, gave the girl one swift glance as she left, and walked
away. She had met two heroines that day, and her nerves were vibrating
like tense strings. She walked up and down the square, keeping her eyes
on Granthope's doorway.
In half an hour she saw him striding up Geary Street. She followed him
rapidly, ran up the stairs and knocked again at his door. He opened it
and took her instantly into his arms. She lay there without speaking,
and there was a blessed interval of silence after his kiss.
The stimulating newness of possession thrilled him. She was still
strange, mysterious, of a different caste, and there was something
deliriously fearful in this familiarity as she lay captive, unresisting,
trembling in his embrace. He had set his trap for a sparrow and caught
a bird of paradise. He knew his power over her, now, though he dared
not test it. He dreaded to break the spell of her wonderful
condescension, her royal grace and favor. He was in no hurry to remove
her crown and scepter; the piquancy of his romance fascinated him.
She broke away from him with a gentle insistence, and looked at him,
rosy and smiling. "I'm afraid I'm just like all other women, after
all--and I'm glad of it!" she confessed, as she readjusted her hat and
sank into the arm-chair to look up at him fondly.
"I don't suppose you realize how strange it seems for me to act this
way?" she said. "No man has ever held me in his arms before. I have
never thought of the possibility of it--even with you. All that sort of
demonstration has been inhibited--I have always wondered if I had any
passion in me. Of course, when I kissed you the other time it was
different--it was the seal of a compact. But this time it seemed so
natural that I didn't think. This is the end of my virginal serenity
for ever. I think you have awakened me at last!"
She broke into happy laughter. "Did I do it well, dear? I'm ashamed to
think how inexperienced I am--and you have known so many cleverer women.
If you call me amateurish, I'll slay you! But I think I shall be an apt
pupil, though. Francis, stop laughing at me, or I'll go home!"
Her naivete was breaking up that glorified seraphic vision he had held
of her and put her more nearly on his level, or, perhaps, raised him to
her. He let his wonder fade slowly. However, with all his customary
audacity he could not yet match her mood. She saw his reserve and took a
woman's delight in wooing him.
"Must I convince you that I am flesh and blood?" she exclaimed with
spirit. "And you--the lady-killer--the hero of a hundred victories--you
don't seem to know that you have me at your feet! Nor how proud I am of
it!"
Then she jumped up and took his hands in hers softly. "You must be very
good to me, Francis, dear, for I'm simple and ignorant compared to the
women you've known, I suppose. But I'm a woman, after all. I don't
want to be worshiped. I want the tenderness of an honest man's love,
such as other women have. I want my divine birthright. I've been aloof
from men all my life. That doesn't make me any less desirable, does it?
I've never met a man who answered my demands. You do, or you will
before I'm through with you. Don't think I'm going to be all moonshine
and vapors. I'm going to love you till stars dance in the heavens!
That's what you get for wakening me, my friend! I've been asleep,
floating in dreams. I want a man's strength and chivalry and audacity
and vigor and romance, instead of the painted shadows I've known.
Aren't you afraid of me?" She dropped her head to his shoulder.
He needed no further hint. He put away her halo and her crown, he drew
the ermine from her, and the vision in her eyes was made manifest. But
it was still too new for her to more than sip at the cup of delight; she
would take her happiness by epicurean inches. So she slid away and
evaded him, putting the chair half-mockingly between them.
"My father has forbidden me to come down here to see you," she said.
"It's really quite romantic. But of course I told him I should come,
nevertheless, so we can't quite call it clandestine. He'll never dare
ask me if I've been here. He's quite afraid of me, when I insist upon
having my own way."
"Have you said anything about Madam Spoll and Vixley to him?"
"Yes, but that's no use. They certainly seem to have given him some
wonderful tests--I don't see how they could have done so well--and he's
absolutely convinced. I don't see what we can do, unless we wait for
them to go too far and arouse his suspicions. I can't think he's
feeble-minded. They're making him pay, though that's the least of the
matter."
"I have had an idea that I might get hold of one of the gang--a Doctor
Masterson--and induce him to sell them out. He's a turncoat, and if he
only knows enough about their game he could be bribed."
"I must leave it to you, Francis. I don't like that method, exactly,
but we must do what we can. Perhaps it will settle itself. We can do
nothing yet, at any rate. To-day I've come down to ask you to invite me
to lunch, please!"
"With pleasure--only, if I must confess--I don't know that I can offer
you a very good one. Wait I'll see how much money I have left." He
felt doubtfully in his pocket, and added, "Oh, that's all right, we can
go to the Palace."