"You do?" he said mischievously exaggerating his surprise.
"Yes, I do. Don't think I'm trying to patronize her, but she's a dear—and she's very pretty."
"Do you think so? I shall have to tell her that. She's pretty enough, at least, to have been on the stage. She was in vaudeville for a couple of years. I first got acquainted with her at the Orpheum. I've known her a long time. She's a great help and a great comfort to me, and a very clever girl."
"How long has she been your assistant?"
"Two years."
"And you haven't fallen in love with her yet?"
Granthope was relieved. He was sure now that she was, if not jealous, suspicious of his relations with Fancy. It was not the first time he had encountered such insinuations.
"Oh, not in the least," he said. "I can give you my word as to that. I don't think it ever occurred to me—though I'd do anything in the world for her."
"And I suppose you're as sure of her immunity?"
"Why, of course," said Granthope, and in his tone there was the ring of masculine assurance.