asked, when at last through coils of
girls and men they reached the terrace below.

Fanny nodded. "Suppose we sit here," she said, indicating a table from
which grew a big parasol.

"Did she say anything?"

Fanny sat down. Annandale seated himself by her. "You know? Don't
you----?"

"Oh, yes," Fanny interrupted. "But then----"

"Then what?"

"Nothing. Only it is so much better so, don't you think?"

"Better!" Annandale fiercely repeated.

"Why, yes. You and Sylvia were totally unsuited for each other. She is
the best and dearest girl in the world. But--here is the waiter. Will
you tell him to fetch me a lemon squash?"

Annandale gave the order.

"With raspberries in it," Fanny called at the waiter's retreating
back. "Aren't you going to take anything?"

In deep gloom Annandale shook his head.

Fanny laughed. "Drink delights you not; no, nor woman either."

"You see----"

"Yes, yes, yes. Of course I see. But why cannot you? Why can't you see
that you and Sylvia stood as much chance of hitting it off as though
you both spoke a different language? A break was bound to come."

But now the man appeared with the squash. Fanny looked at it. "Only
two raspberries," she cried. "And such little ones."

"Bring a dish of them," said Annandale. "I suppose," he resumed as the
waiter again retreated, "I suppose she will find somebody with whom
she can hit it off."

"Yes, of course. There is me and there are other girls. But the men
will be few. They will be elderly, I think, and I think, too, tame
enough to eat out of her hand."

"You think, then, that I am out of the running?"

Fanny did not answer. She was drinking the squash. When she put it
down she put with it the subject. It bored her.

"Are you going to be here long?" she asked. Until a moment before
Annandale had been wavering. But now his mind was made up. Or he
thought it was.

"No. I am off tomorrow."

"Where to?"

"The North Woods, perhaps. I am not sure."

"If you are not sure, you cannot be in any very tearing haste. Why not
stop a day or two longer and take me about?"

Annandale looked at her. In the look was surprise; inquiry, too.

"Yes. Why not?"

Annandale's look deepened into a stare.

"Now, don't be stupid," said Fanny, to whom such stares were familiar.
"I am not trying to get up a flirtation with you. But I must have
someone to talk to."

"I like to hear you talk."

"Yes; men always like nonsense."

"Only from a prett