“It’s probably Monahan and his gang,” said Briggs, hurrying out of the room. “I forgot to ask Michael——”
“Well, then, tell Guy—” Fanny called after him, but he disappeared before she had time to finish the sentence. She stood disconsolate in the middle of the room. “Nobody seems to care for me around here,” she said. “I’ve a good mind to go home.” Then she turned and saw Guy Fullerton smiling at her.
“Hello, Fan!” he said.
Fanny promptly turned her back on him.
“Everything seems to be going wrong this morning,” she said. “I almost wish I hadn’t come.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Guy walked to the opposite side of the room, dropped into a chair and rested his head on his hand.
“Now, don’t you go and be silly,” cried Fanny, glancing at him over her shoulder.
Guy looked relieved. “I thought you were mad with me. Oh, that’s all right, then. If you could only have some sort of sign to show just who you’re mad with, you know! Fan,” he went on, softly, “as long as we’re alone, can’t we—can’t we fix it up? You and—” He touched his chest with his forefinger.
Fanny gave a little jump. Her eyes beamed. “Sir,” she cried, “is this a proposal?” Then she added, in a tone of disappointment: “Does it come like this?”
“You know I’ve been awfully fond of you for a long time,” Guy pleaded.