"That's a dandy word. I never thought of that. May I use it?"
"Will you be serious?"
"You mustn't mind me," Fancy said. "I never could do that running throb in my voice. I've lost lots of things by not being able to cry to order. But I'll listen. What is it?"
"I know you've left Mr. Granthope's office."
"Oh, yes. I got tired of the routine there. It's awful to sit and watch women who come to hear themselves talked about. It got on my nerves. So I told Frank I'd have to quit or tell them the straight truth about themselves."
Clytie looked at her curiously for a moment. Fancy turned away from her glance. Clytie went on: "I wanted to see if I couldn't get you a position—perhaps with my father."
"Thank you, but I guess not." Fancy cast her eyes down. "I don't care to go to work just yet—I'm going to drift a while—it's awfully kind of you, though."
"Can't you come and stay with me a while? I thought I might teach you bookbinding and we could work together." Clytie herself was getting somewhat embarrassed.
Fancy shook her head. "Sometime I'll come and see you—but not now."
"Well, since Mr. Granthope has given up his business—"