Cayley followed her up. "He has a fine presence; I should think he'd be good at it. He has lots of women running after him, hasn't he?"
"Oh, he did have—women to throw at the birds—women to warm up for supper—women to burn, and he burned 'em, too. But he won't stand for them now," said Fancy.
"What's the matter? Is he stung?" He filled her glass again.
"Yep. He's cut 'em all out—even me. That's why I'm here."
"But he works them, though?"
"Oh, no, Blan, Frank's straight, sure he is. He doesn't graft any more. He hasn't for—some time."
"I don't believe that," said Cayley.
"Oh, of course, he investigates cases sometimes, but he don't work with cappers the way he did. He's going in for high society now, and he doesn't need to do anything but wear a swallow-tail and get up on his hind legs and drink tea."
Blanchard took a chance shot. "I hear he's trying to marry a rich girl."
Fancy, for the first time, seemed to come to herself. She looked hard at Cayley.' "What are you driving at, Blan? What do you want to talk about that for? It's all off between me and Frank, but I'm not going to knock him. He's all right, Frank is. I'd rather talk about Me, please! Talk about Fancy, Blan, won't you? Fancy's so tired of talking shop."