In these uncertainties he loitered, annoyed but sober. Since the visit from Orr he had not touched a drop. Then, it so fell about that one evening he looked in at a dance at the Casino. Madness was in the air.
The savors of the sea, the tonic of the dip, the stare of the harvest moon, go to the head, stir the heart, excite the pulse in a manner really Boccaccian.
Madness is contagious. It seemed particularly catching that night. The hall was filled, the gallery flushed. On a stage, at the end of the ballroom, musicians were tossing out in trailing rhythm the sorcery of "Il Bacio," the invitation of the "Cent Vierges," the m.u.f.fled riot of "El Capitan."
To these incentives couples turned. Beneath the gallery where Annandale stood there was a vision of white arms, bare necks, slender waists circled by the blackness of men"s sleeves. Three hundred girls and men were waltzing together, interchanging partners, clasping hands, gazing into each other"s eyes.
Behind Annandale a group had gathered. They were talking, yet of what he did not heed. But, presently, into the conversation filtered the freshness of another voice.
"I quite believe, you know," the voice was saying, "that a girl who stops here this summer will stop at nothing next."
At the jest Annandale turned. There, pretty as a peach but rather more amusing, stood f.a.n.n.y Price.
"Hamlet!" she exclaimed.
Annandale resembled the Dane as little as he did the devil. He was fully aware of that. But he was equally aware that he must seem blue.
He straightened himself and smiled. Then at once it occurred to him that f.a.n.n.y might be a signal bearer.
"How do you do?" he said. "Don"t you want to come and sit on the terrace? When did you get here?"
"Just now. I am over from Newport. They told me there that I ought to come in disguise. They call it slumming."
"Yes," Annandale inanely and eagerly replied. Of the little speech he had caught but one word--Newport.
"Now, if I go with you, will you give me something pink, something with raspberries in it?"
f.a.n.n.y, as she spoke, disengaged herself from the people with whom she had come.
"You saw Sylvia, didn"t you?" he asked, when at last through coils of girls and men they reached the terrace below.
f.a.n.n.y nodded. "Suppose we sit here," she said, indicating a table from which grew a big parasol.
"Did she say anything?"
f.a.n.n.y sat down. Annandale seated himself by her. "You know? Don"t you----?"
"Oh, yes," f.a.n.n.y interrupted. "But then----"
"Then what?"
"Nothing. Only it is so much better so, don"t you think?"
"Better!" Annandale fiercely repeated.
"Why, yes. You and Sylvia were totally unsuited for each other. She is the best and dearest girl in the world. But--here is the waiter. Will you tell him to fetch me a lemon squash?"
Annandale gave the order.
"With raspberries in it," f.a.n.n.y called at the waiter"s retreating back. "Aren"t you going to take anything?"
In deep gloom Annandale shook his head.
f.a.n.n.y laughed. "Drink delights you not; no, nor woman either."
"You see----"
"Yes, yes, yes. Of course I see. But why cannot you? Why can"t you see that you and Sylvia stood as much chance of hitting it off as though you both spoke a different language? A break was bound to come."
But now the man appeared with the squash. f.a.n.n.y looked at it. "Only two raspberries," she cried. "And such little ones."
"Bring a dish of them," said Annandale. "I suppose," he resumed as the waiter again retreated, "I suppose she will find somebody with whom she can hit it off."
"Yes, of course. There is me and there are other girls. But the men will be few. They will be elderly, I think, and I think, too, tame enough to eat out of her hand."
"You think, then, that I am out of the running?"
f.a.n.n.y did not answer. She was drinking the squash. When she put it down she put with it the subject. It bored her.
"Are you going to be here long?" she asked. Until a moment before Annandale had been wavering. But now his mind was made up. Or he thought it was.
"No. I am off tomorrow."
"Where to?"
"The North Woods, perhaps. I am not sure."
"If you are not sure, you cannot be in any very tearing haste. Why not stop a day or two longer and take me about?"
Annandale looked at her. In the look was surprise; inquiry, too.
"Yes. Why not?"
Annandale"s look deepened into a stare.
"Now, don"t be stupid," said f.a.n.n.y, to whom such stares were familiar.
"I am not trying to get up a flirtation with you. But I must have someone to talk to."
"I like to hear you talk."
"Yes; men always like nonsense."
"Only from a pretty girl, though."
"Do you know," said f.a.n.n.y, rising from beneath the big parasol, "the waiter didn"t bring the raspberries. No matter now, though. I must go and find mother. This is no place for her to be out alone."
CHAPTER VIII