his cap and
perspiring profusely.

The Prices as yet had not turned up. Annandale secured rooms for them,
had the bundles taken there, went to his own quarters, re-emerged
shortly fresh as paint, hungry as a wolf.

It was high noon. From beyond drifted the sound of cries, the smell
of smoke, the commotion of flight. The Rockingham had gone, the
adjacent shops and bath houses with it; the Casino had fallen.
Hurrying to the railway station beyond came people with handbags,
wagons with trunks. From the air the caress had passed. There was
panic in it.

But presently the flames showed less voluminous. After devouring all
that they conveniently could they were subsiding. It was apparent that
the worst was over. Then at last Fanny and her mother drove up.

From the veranda where he stood Annandale ran down to meet them. "I
have your things," he cried. "I have rooms for you also."

"Hobson is not in it with you," said Fanny, when the tale of the
bundles had been told. "I could kiss you. I would if mamma were not
here."

For that, ordinarily, Fanny would have been promptly sat upon. But
here was the exceptional. Mrs. Price recognized it or appeared to.
Instead of rebuking the girl and snubbing the man, Mrs. Price
condescended to tell Annandale that he was "too good."

This was very nice. Annandale felt over-rewarded. Then, shortly, the
midday meal ensuing, he conducted mother and daughter to the
restaurant, sat with them at table, ordered Ruinart cup and assumed
family airs. Later, in a motor, he took Fanny to view the ruins,
hummed her over the country and later still procured for her a lemon
squash with plenty of raspberries in it, which she consumed on the
porch, to the sound of the waves, by the light of the stars.

Meanwhile she had changed her pastel frock for another, which, if a
bit rumpled in transit, became her wonderfully well.

Annandale commented on it. "By the way," he suddenly interrupted
himself to remark, "I have more of your things. I stuffed them in my
pocket and forgot them entirely. I will go and fetch them now."

"Don't bother. Tomorrow will do. What are they, do you remember?"

"Money and jewelry. Rings and pins, I think. I am sure there were
pins. One of them stuck in me."

"Any clothes?"

"Clothes!" Annandale echoed in surprise. "Why, no, are any missing?"

"My mother's. They were in the room next to mine."

"The Lord forgive me, I never thought of it."

"It does not really matter.