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. Only we will have to go to town tomorrow. Mamma has not a stitch." "The devil!" muttered Annandale in fierce self-reprobation. "Hang my stupidity. I am a fool." "You are nothing of the kind. If it were not for you I would not have a stitch either." "That is all very well. But I have bungled matters dreadfully. I don't know what your mother can think of me. I do know, though, that I wish she would let me replace the things which she has lost through my fault." In the sky a star was falling, swiftly, silently, like a drop of water on a window-pane. Fanny watched it. She had been lolling back in a chair. But at Annandale's suggestion she sat up. "That is absurd," she announced. "Well, then, it would be only nice and fair of you to put me in a position where, without offense, I could do so." But Fanny was rising. "It is late," she announced. "I must go." Annandale caught at her. "Say 'Yes,'" he implored. "Or at least don't say 'No.' Say something." "Something, then. There, let me be." At that Annandale, who still held her, held her yet tighter. "You are the dearest girl in all the world." Fanny gave him a little shove. "Don't do that, anyone might see you." "Yes, and see too that you belong to me." "I am not so sure." "You shan't go then till you are." Annandale, as he spoke, planted himself uncircuitously before her. "Oh," said Fanny, in a little sugary, demure voice, "if you are going to use brute force----" "I am." "Then I give in." "For keeps?" "Don't, there's my mother."