"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?"