But Fanny was recovering. With an air of vexation in which there was amusement, she puffed at her cigarette and then at him. "Now, honestly, have I ever given you the slightest encouragement to ask me that?" She hesitated a moment, puffed again and added: "We have been friends, I think; let us remain so." Annandale, who was in loose white flannels, contemplated his tight white shoes. Then his eyes sought hers. "Are you interested in Loftus?" "That is none of your business," Fanny proudly and promptly replied. As she spoke she got from her seat, approached the casement, gazed out and away. "I do not believe you are," Annandale announced to her slender waist. "But if I am wrong, it is hardly disloyalty to him to say that he is not good enough for you." Beneath the tower was a tennis court. Fanny made a face at it. But the face must have been insufficient. Looking over her shoulder at Annandale, she showed her teeth. "Do you fancy a girl cares for a man because he is or is not good enough? When a girl cares she cares because she cannot help herself." "I know that is the way with a man, or at least with me. I cannot help caring for you." "Nor could you help caring for Sylvia." "She is so different." "Yes," said Fanny dreamily, "and so are you." Though to whom she referred she did not say, nor did Annandale ask. She gave him no chance. "Next month you will not be able to help caring for some other girl." "Not if you would take me." "But, you see, I don't care for you." "But couldn't you?" Annandale persisted. "Couldn't you if you tried? Of course, in saying that Loftus is not good enough for you I don't mean that I am. But if you could try I would." At this program Fanny laughed. "We should be a pair of Christian Endeavorers, shouldn't we?" To the levity of that Annandale found no immediate reply. Yet presently, with an irrelevance more obvious than real, he threw out: "He has gone abroad, you know." "Who? Loftus?" "Yes, for a year, I believe." Fanny turned to the tennis court again. It was, though, not that which she saw, but a hope that was slipping away, sinking away, sinking down into death dishonored. For a moment she was very still. A movement of Annandale's aroused her. "Come," she said. "It is hot here. Let us go." Gathering a fold of her skirt, Fanny descended the stair. Annandale filed after. On a balcony below a lady with faded hair and gimlet eyes pounced at her. "I have been hunting for you everywhere," the lady exclaimed. "Aren't you going to dress?" Then she nodded to Annandale. Annandale touched his cap. "How do you do, Mrs. Price?" He would have lingered, but Fanny dismissed him. "Good-bye," she said. "I may see you this evening." As he ambled off Mrs. Price returned to the charge. "Where have you been?" Fanny patted a yawn. "Listening to sweet nothings." "From him? Why, he hasn't anything, has he? What did you do?" Fanny patted another yawn or else another sigh. "I fell on his neck and sobbed for joy."