"Yes," Annandale resumed, "and that was Loftus, an old friend of
mine."

"Any relation to _the_ Loftus?" Mr. Skitt, glad that the subject was
out of the way, inquired.

"He is _the_ Loftus," Annandale, now entirely mollified, replied.

Others, however, took the spectacle less lightly. To Marie it was
distressing. To Mrs. Price it was absurd. Mrs. Price had not seen it,
but she heard of it. To air a few views on the subject she pounced in
on Fanny the very next day. Loftus, however, was there at the time.
She had to wait until he was gone. Then she let drive.

"Do you fancy," she asked fiercely, "that this is London? Do you?" she
repeated and menacingly pulled off a glove. "Don't you know that you
cannot have men hanging about you, and of all men that man? Great
heavens, if you wanted him you should have taken him at the start."

Fanny lit a cigarette, made a ring of smoke, poked a finger through it
and in a sugary, demure little way which she sometimes affected,
answered serenely: "At the finish perhaps I may yet."

"What!" cried Mrs. Price.

But from the door a servant was announcing Miss Waldron. The girl swam
in. Necessarily, for the time being, the subject was dropped. Later
Mrs. Price got back to it, but without notable result, without
obtaining either any elucidation of Fanny's rather curious remark.

That though, with graver things, the future had in charge. Meanwhile
Fanny, with nine servants and a housekeeper to run them, led the life
of any other young society woman, the life of an _objet de luxe_.

This form of existence would have been quite to her liking if--Yet is
there not always an If? A poet declaimed on the subject two thousand
years ago. Times have changed, customs with them, but not the human
heart. Barring great wealth and its fanfares and accompaniments, Fanny
had enough to throw the average woman into stupors of envy, enough
also to even satisfy her, if only instead of one man she had married
another. Annandale was very nice. He had but one defect. But that
defect was fatal. He did not happen to be somebody else.

This defect Fanny had fancied that she could overlook. She was young,
therefore ignorant, and, in fancying that she could ignore that fatal
defect, fancied also that she had the ability to order herself about,
to command her nature and dictate to her heart. The fallacy is common.
Many of us have entertained it and kept at it too until the discovery
is made that the heart is