Granthope watched the two women in silence.
"Well, then, I'll go." Clytie walked to the mirror, smiled with Fancy at the image she saw there, touched her hat and rubbed her face with her handkerchief. Then she held out her hand with a charming simplicity.
"I do wish you'd come and see me sometime, Miss Gray!" she said.
Fancy choked down something in her throat before she replied.
"I will—sometime—sure. If you really want to see me."
"Yes, I really do." Clytie smiled again. Then she went up to Granthope. "Good night, Mr. Granthope, I'm sure I'm leaving you in kind hands. I hope it won't prove a serious injury. And—remember!" Then, bowing to both, she left the room and went down to her cab.
Two vertical lines were furrowed in Granthope's brow. He turned to Fancy with a look that barely escaped being angry.
"God! I'm sorry you were here!"
"Yes? That's easily remedied; you only have to say the word."
"Too late, now!" His tone was sad rather than cruel.