"H'are you, Mr. Summerlad?" Bellamy met his impudence with irresistible audacity. "So we meet again. Sure we would some day. Well: pleasanter circumstances than last time, what?"
"Conditions are what one makes them, out here in California. I hope you'll find the climate healthier than Chicago's."
"Trust me for that," Bellamy retorted in entire good-humour. "But, I say"—he glanced in feigned apprehension toward the camera—"not obstructing traffic, am I?"
"No fear, or Jacques would've bawled you out long ago."
"'Sright," Jacques averred, coming forward to be introduced. "All through for today, folks," he called back. "Le's go!"
Breaking into small knots and straggling off to the waiting motor-cars, the company prepared for its journey home, while cameras and properties were packed up and the horses herded away toward their overnight quarters in Azusa.
Slender, fair, insouciant, looking a precocious little girl in her extravagantly brief skirts, but with all the wisdom of Eve a-glimmer in her wide eyes, Fanny sauntered up and permitted Bellamy to be presented.
"My chaperon," Lucinda explained with the false vivacity of overtaut nerves—"the straight-laced conservator of les convenances."
"I hope very truly," Bel asserted, bowing over Fanny's hand—"you never need one less charming or more complaisant."
Fanny giggled, enjoying the contretemps hugely and determined it shouldn't lose savour for want of ambiguous seasoning.