"Of course not!" Clytie held out both her hands. "If I were, I'd be so
glad to have you interrupt me, Miss Gray. Do come in! How charming you
look! I'm so glad to see you."
Fancy accepted the welcome, looking long into Clytie's eyes, as if she
expected to find in them something of special significance. Her own
were steady, and had in them an evidence of resolve.
"I've been hoping you'd come to see me, Miss Gray," Clytie began.
Fancy stopped on the threshold.
"Fancy Gray, please!" she corrected, with an elusive smile.
"Fancy Gray--I'm glad to be permitted to use such a lovely name."
"Make it Fancy, straight. Then I'll be more natural. I'm always stiff
and stupid when people call me Miss Gray. I always feel as if they were
talking about me behind my back." Fancy's smile broke out now, as if in
spite of herself.
"I'd love to call you Fancy! It's good of you to let me!" Clytie
answered.
Her smile was as delicious, in this gallant interchange. Fancy's smile
seemed as much a part of her natural expression as the brightness of her
open eyes; it was embracing, like a baby's. Clytie's had the effect of
a particularly gracious favor, almost a condescension, a special gift of
the moment.
Fancy stopped again at the entrance to the library.
"Say, this is awfully orderly," she said, "haven't you got some place
that isn't so tidy and clean? I'm afraid I wouldn't be comfortable
here, and I want to talk to you."
Clytie looked at her amusedly. "So you're one of those persons who
think dust is artistic? Come up into my workroom, then. You'll find
that untidy enough."
Up-stairs they went, to the workroom.
"My!" said Fancy. "If you call this place untidy, you ought to see my
room! Why, it's as neat as a pin!" She entered, nevertheless, and
looked about her with curiosity at everything.
"Haven't you a looking-glass here?" she asked in astonishment.
"No, but I'll get you one."
Fancy laughed. "I couldn't live an hour without a mirror," she
confessed. "You're really queer, aren't you! And you don't even wear
jewelry! I'm afraid modesty isn't my favorite stunt. It's very
becoming to you, though. I suppose it doesn't go with painted hair."
She sighed.
"I don't believe that even you could improve on nature, Fancy!"
"I'm sure nature intended me for a blonde, and got careless. Did you
ever know a brunette who didn't want to be a blonde?" She looked at
Clytie's tawny hair with evident admiration.
Clytie shook her head, smiling. "I'd give you my hair for your
complexion."
"Done!" Fancy rubbed her handkerchief across her pink cheeks, and
handed the bit of cambric to Clytie. After this comedy pantomime, she
took the little silver watch from her chatelaine pin, opened the back
door, where, inside, was a bright and shiny surface, and regarded her
face, pouting. Then she looked across at Clytie.
"You're so pretty, Miss Payson! You're four times and a half as pretty
as I am!"
Clytie ventured to touch her little finger to the dent in Fancy's upper
lip. Fancy retreated a step. "My dear," Clytie asserted, "if I had
_that_, I'd be sure that men would be crazy for me till I was seventy
years old!"
Fancy shook her head. "I guess I can't beat that. That's what Gay calls
'the pink penultimate.' And the worst of it is, I suppose it's true!
But I'll never be seventy if I can help it." She turned away, suddenly
grown serious. The room grew dark. It was as if Fancy's mood had
turned off the sunshine.
"What are you doing, now?" Clytie asked.
"Oh, just drifting." Fancy's voice was not hopeful.
Clytie took her hand. "Why don't you come here and stay with me for a
while? I'd love to have you."
Fancy gently released her fingers in Clytie's and did not look at her.
"Oh, I wish you wouldn't be quite so kind to me, Miss Payson; I can't
stand it!" Her mouth trembled; her gaze was serious.
"But it would be so kind of you to come!" Clytie urged.
Fancy smiled wanly. "I can't do it, Miss Payson, I won't explain. I
never explain. It bores me. But I simply can't."
"Well, you know, if you ever do want to come--"
"I'll come, sure!" Fancy looked at her now, with fire in her eyes, not
flaming, but burning deep. "Whenever I forget what a thoroughbred is
like, I'll come! Whenever I need a teaspoonful of flattery to last me
over night, I'll come! Whenever I want to know how much finer and
kinder women are than men, I'll come! Whenever--"
She would have gone on, but Clytie interrupted her. "Whenever you want
to make me very happy, whenever you want to do me the greatest favor in
your power, you'll come!"
Fancy's eyes narrowed and twinkled. "I'm all out of breath trying to
keep up with you! I give it up. Take the pot!" She turned to the bench
and examined the tools in a box.
"Ugh!" she commented. "They look like dentists' instruments!"
"I don't believe _you_ ever had to suffer from them! It doesn't seem
possible!" said Clytie.
In response, Fancy engagingly showed her double row of small, white,
zigzag teeth. Then, with a sudden access of frivolity, she favored
Clytie with an exhibition of her little, pointed tongue, which she
erected and waved sidewise. This done, she dropped into a chair again.
The sun had returned and visited the room, making a brilliant object of
her jaunty figure as she sat under the window. She wore the fine gold
chain with the swastika that Clytie had given her. She fingered it as
she spoke.
"Miss Payson," she said, "I'm going to ask you something that perhaps is
none of my business."
"Ask what you please," said Clytie, but she looked at Fancy with
something like alarm.
"Have you seen Mr. Granthope lately?"