"Pretty clever of you, writing to Zenda," said Grannis. "Never occurred to you that, getting a letter from you, I might run through Zenda's mail, looking for a note in the same handwriting, eh?"
"No-o, it didn't," said Clancy slowly. "Yet, I suppose I should have known that one kind of crook is another kind, too."
Grannis nodded his head. His underlip came forward a trifle.
"I'll give you credit; you're game enough. If being a fool can be called gameness. And any one that parts with a thousand dollars in this town is certainly a fool. But that's all right. You probably don't need money. 'Little Miss Millions' is your name, I suppose."
Clancy yawned.
"I don't want to hurt your feelings, Mr. Grannis, but if you're being funny, I somehow can't get it."
"You will!" snapped Grannis. "Look here, Miss Deane! You're breaking into matters that don't concern you."
"I suppose I am," said Clancy.
She turned to Weber.
"I understood that New York's climate was bad for you," she said.