To these incentives couples turned. Beneath the gallery where Annandale stood there was a vision of white arms, bare necks, slender waists circled by the blackness of men's sleeves. Three hundred girls and men were waltzing together, interchanging partners, clasping hands, gazing into each other's eyes. Behind Annandale a group had gathered. They were talking, yet of what he did not heed. But, presently, into the conversation filtered the freshness of another voice. "I quite believe, you know," the voice was saying, "that a girl who stops here this summer will stop at nothing next." At the jest Annandale turned. There, pretty as a peach but rather more amusing, stood Fanny Price. "Hamlet!" she exclaimed. Annandale resembled the Dane as little as he did the devil. He was fully aware of that. But he was equally aware that he must seem blue. He straightened himself and smiled. Then at once it occurred to him that Fanny might be a signal bearer. "How do you do?" he said. "Don't you want to come and sit on the terrace? When did you get here?" "Just now. I am over from Newport. They told me there that I ought to come in disguise. They call it slumming." "Yes," Annandale inanely and eagerly replied. Of the little speech he had caught but one word--Newport. "Now, if I go with you, will you give me something pink, something with raspberries in it?" Fanny, as she spoke, disengaged herself from the people with whom she had come. "You saw Sylvia, didn't you?" he 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."