"What do you know about Miss Payson, anyway?" he demanded.
"I've—seen her."
"Well, what did you think of her?"
"I thought she was a thoroughbred."
"Indeed?" Cayley thought it over, looking somewhat abstractedly at a picture on the wall, entitled: "Je congnois la faulte des Boesmes." Then he turned with an open countenance to her and said, with an air of candor:
"You see, Fancy, I happened to know Payson was in the clutches of Vixley and this Spoll woman—they were sucking his blood. I thought I could rescue him if you would play spirit, and then tell Payson afterwards what a fraud it all was. Understand now?" He smiled blandly.
"I see," she said, and went on with her dinner.
"Then again," Cayley remarked, "I thought you wouldn't mind getting even with Granthope."
This brought her up again with an angry flush. "What has he got to do with it?"
"Well, he played it rather low down on you, didn't he?"