Fancy clapped her hands softly in pantomime. Then she turned to Mrs. Maxwell and the others. "I hope I'm not out of the frying-pan into the fire," she said. "Please let me down easy, ladies. If you don't make me feel at home pretty quick, I'll be up against it I You don't really have to know me, you know. Only it looked to me like when he had three such pretty women to take care of one more ought to be easy enough."
"We were three pretty women before, perhaps, my dear, but now I'm afraid we're only one!" said Clytie. She herself, kindled with the spirit of adventure, and so adequately welcoming it, was irresistible.
Fancy blew a pretty kiss at her. "No man would know enough to say anything as nice as that, would he? But I'm afraid I can't trot in your class, Miss Payson. Why, every man in the room has been watching you all the evening. I really ought to sit beside Mrs. Maxwell, though, to show her off. It takes these brunettes to make me look outclassed, doesn't it? I used to be a brunette myself, but I reformed. Mr. Cayley, you may hold me on, if you like. And remember, when I kick you under the table it's a hint for you to say something about my hands." She laid them on the table-cloth ingenuously.
Clytie took one up and showed it to Mrs. Maxwell. "Did you ever see a prettier wrist than that?" she said.
"It's charming! I'm afraid she'd never be able to wear my gloves."
Fancy smiled good-temperedly. "That second finger is supposed to be perfect," she said, looking at it reflectively.
"It's queer that the fourth one hasn't a diamond on it," Mrs. Maxwell suggested amiably.
"It's only because I hate to fry my own eggs. I never could learn to play on the cook-stove."
"My dear, you'll never have to do that," said Clytie. "No man would be brute enough to endanger such a complexion as you have!"
Fancy rubbed her cheek. "Good enough to raise a blush on. Has it worn off yet? I wish you could make me do it again; I'd rather wear a good No. 5 blush than a silk-lined skirt."