"I'll come down as soon as I can get off," she continued.
He shrugged his shoulders without looking at her, and went down-stairs, and out.
CHAPTER VII
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB
Madam Spoll was sitting in her study on Eddy Street, awaiting her victim, when Francis Granthope, immaculate as usual, appeared in her doorway, having been admitted by Spoll. She was in front of the glass, pinning on a lace collar.
"Hello, Frank," she said cordially, looking over her shoulder, "you're a sight for sore eyes! We don't see much of you, nowadays."
"I've been pretty busy, lately," he answered, sitting down and looking about with an expression of ill-concealed distaste. The stuffy, crowded room seemed more unpleasant than ever, after his evening at the Maxwells'. Madam Spoll seemed more gross. Everything that had been familiar to him had somehow changed. He seemed to have a different angle of vision. It was close and warm, and the air smelled of dust.
"You ain't a-going to forget your old friends, now you've got in with the four hundred, are you, Frank?" she said earnestly.
He pulled out a cigarette-case and lit a cigarette. As he struck the match he answered:
"Not if they don't meddle in my affairs." He gazed at her coolly as he inhaled a puff of smoke and sent a ring across the room.