"I'm positive of it. Why, when I begun, I give some remarkable tests myself. I used to get names, sometimes. But there are straight ones. Not here, maybe, but in New York. You could send a lock of your hair."
He went up to her and clapped his hand on her shoulder, still laughing. "You're beautiful, my dear; you're positively beautiful!"
She turned a surprised face to him. "What in the world d'you mean?"
He shook his head and walked away. "Preserve your illusions! It's too wonderful. I'll be believing in palmistry, next I'll believe myself in love, after that. And then—I'll believe I'm honest, dignified, honorable, modest!" His tone grew, word by word, more hard and cynical. Then he turned to her with a whimsical expression: "So you believe your doll's alive!"
"I've no time to talk nonsense any longer!" she exclaimed, rising ponderously. "I can't make you out at all, Frank. Sometimes you're practical as insurance and sometimes you're half bug-house. Maybe it's them clothes!" She regarded him carefully.
He bowed to her with mock courtesy, spreading his fan.
"Lord, you do look like a fool in that Chink's rig. Have a good time with 'em—but keep your eyes and your ears open!"
She went out.
He was about to turn out the electric lights and leave, when he heard a knock at the door. He opened it, and saw the little freckled-face girl who had come to his office the day he had first met Clytie Payson. He recognized her instantly, but she, seeing him so extraordinarily disguised, drew back in surprise.
"Did you want Mr. Granthope?" he asked.