The Return of the Yellow Fay
In Fanny’s drawing-room the next evening, at six minutes after eight, Loftus appeared. Although tolerably punctual, others had preceded him. On a sofa with Fanny was Sylvia Waldron. On another sofa were Mrs. Waldron and Melanchthon Orr. Annandale, who seemed to have lost flesh, was standing in the middle of the floor.
“How are you?” he asked as Loftus entered.
“And you?”
“They did me,” Annandale answered. “ Atch. , U.P. , St. Paul, Steel, I had the list.” As he spoke he mopped himself. Then in confidential aside, he added, “It has affected my stomach. It is as though I had a hole there. Will you have a sherry and bitters?”
Loftus moved forward to where Sylvia and Fanny sat. Fanny gave him a finger; Sylvia, a little distant nod. She was dressed in white. About her neck was a string of pearls. Fanny was in a frock of tender asparagus green fluttered with lace, very cool to the eye and cut rather low.
“I hope Arthur isn’t hurt much,” said Loftus.
“Are you?” Fanny asked.
“No. I have been selling. Today I covered. It was not easy, though. Everybody was crazy. I have never seen a panic before.”
“It will be a generation before you see another,” Orr, from across the room, called out.