He looked at her for a minute. "There's no doubt that you are, Fancy."
"I wish I were. I'm only a drifter, Frank." She kept on with her darning, not looking up.
"Fancy, I want to do something for you. Won't you let me help you?"
"I'm all right, Frank. I told you I wanted to have some fun before I settled down again. But if I ever do need anything, I'll let you know."
"Promise me that—that whenever you want me, you'll send for me, or come to me, Fancy!"
She looked up into his eyes frankly. "I promise, Frank. When I need you, I'll come."
She was a blither spirit after that, till he took his leave. It had been an eventful day for Francis Granthope. He had swung round almost the whole circle of emotions. But not quite.
CHAPTER XI
THE FIRST TURNING TO THE LEFT
At five o'clock the next afternoon Blanchard Cayley sitting at a window of his club, opening the letters which he had just taken from his box in the office. He had his hat on, a trait which always aroused the ire of the older members. Beside him, upon a small table, was a glass of "orange squeeze," which he sipped at intervals.