"Regarding you my mind will never change. I shall speak to Arthur tonight."
"What's that?" called Annandale who, from the other end of the table, had caught the mention of his name. "What's that?"
"We were talking stocks," Loftus answered. "Do you know how money was today?"
"I know it was beastly tight."
"And that seems to me," Fanny with one of her limpid smiles remarked, "such a vulgar condition for money to be in."
"Did I hear you ask," Orr inquired, "how money was today? It was sixty per cent."
"Dear me, Melanchthon," Mrs. Waldron exclaimed. "I think I must get you to speak to the Trust Company. They only give me three. A mouse could not live in New York on that."
"The time is not distant," said Orr, "when the population of New York will be exclusively composed of mice and millionaires. Nobody but plutocrats and paupers will be able to live here. Already it is little more than a sordid hell with a blue sky. I can remember——"
Orr ran on. He had the table. In the impromptu which ensued other conversation was swamped. But during it, for a second, Loftus had Fanny's hand in his. It clasped it and in clasping thrilled. It was the first time in her life that she had permitted herself—or him—such a thing. It was the last.
Sylvia, happening at the moment to turn that way, could not help seeing what was going on. She colored and looked at Annandale.