He laughed at her surprise. "No, I'm doing society," he explained.
"Do 'em good, then! Lord, you are a-butting in this time, ain't you! I wouldn't know you from a Sam Yup highbinder on a Chiny New Year in that rig! What is it, a fancy-dress ball at the Mechanics' Pavilion?"
"Worse than that," he laughed; "this is a private supper-party in costume and I am a guest."
"Lord, you are getting on, for fair! You ain't been conning them swell girls for nothing, have you? And, to be frank with you, I always thought you was after something very different. I was kind of afraid they'd spoil you, too. It's a good graft, Frank, and if I can do anything to give you a lift, just say the word."
"Thanks," he said dryly, taking a seat in front of her and pulling his long sleeves up to his wrist.
She kept her eyes upon him, as if fascinated by the gorgeousness of his costume, seemingly a little in fear of his elegant manners as well. Then she broke out, pettishly:
"Say, Fancy's getting pretty fresh, seems to me. She's a very different girl from what she was when she used to play spook for us. She was glad enough once to be polite—butter wouldn't melt in her mouth them days!"
"Oh, you mustn't mind Fancy; she's all right when you get used to her."
"She's pretty, if she is sassy," the medium acknowledged. "I can hardly blame you, Frank. I s'pose you find a good use for her. She seems to be pretty fond of you."
Granthope scowled. "Never mind about her. She's a great help to me here, and I like her—that's enough for you. You didn't come here to talk about Fancy Gray."