"But he has other fish to fry. Do you know the other day I saw him—"
But what Fanny had seen was never told, or at least not then. Annandale was invading the parlor.
"Conquering hero!" cried Fanny. "I am here congratulating Sylvia."
"I congratulate myself that you are. I have a motor at the door, and I propose to take you both to Sherry's, afterward, if you like, to the races. There you may congratulate me."
"What is this about Sherry's?" Again the parlor was invaded. This time by Sylvia's mother. She had bright cheeks, bright eyes, bright hair. In her voice was indulgence, in her manner ease. She gave a hand to Fanny, the other to Annandale.
"In my day," she resumed, "girls did not go lunching without someone to look after them."
"They certainly did not go to Sherry's," said Annandale. "There was no Sherry's to go to. But why won't you come with us?"
"Thank you, Arthur. It is not because Fanny or Sylvia needs looking after. But when I was their age anything of the sort would have been thought so common. Yet then, what was common at that time seems to have been accepted since. Now, there is a chance to call me old-fashioned."
"I can do better than that," said Annandale, "I can call you grande dame."
"Yes," Fanny threw in, "and that, don't you think, is so superior to being merely—ahem—demned grand."