As he fumbled for his key in his pocket, the office door was suddenly opened and Fancy Gray appeared upon the threshold.
Her eyebrows went up and Granthope's went down. Her eyes had flown past him to stare at Clytie. The two women confronted each other for a tense moment without a word.
Fancy had taken off her jacket; her hair was braided down her back. She wore an embroidered linen blouse turned away at the neck, and pinned over her heart was a little silver chatelaine watch with a blue dial. It rose and fell as she drew breath suddenly.
"Mr. Granthope has met with an accident," Clytie announced, the first to recover from the shock of surprise.
"I should say he had," was her comment, "and you, too?" Then she laughed nervously. "It must have been a draw."
Clytie did not catch the allusion. "I happened to find him and brought him back," she explained. "He had fallen down the cliff on Telegraph Hill."
As Granthope limped in, Fancy put a few more wondering inquiries, which he answered in monosyllables. Seeing Fancy so disconcerted, Clytie left Granthope in a chair and turned directly to her with a conciliatory gesture.
"We always seem to meet in queer circumstances, Miss Gray, don't we?" she said kindly. "It's really most fortunate that you happened to be here at work. I don't quite know what I should have done, all alone, but I'm sure you will do all that's necessary for Mr. Granthope, better than I. I must hurry home; father will be expecting me."
During this speech, Fancy's eyes had filled, and now they shone soft with gratitude.
"Oh," she said, "I can fix him up all right. It's only a bad strain, I guess."