At the further end of the room Harris, Annandale’s former valet, since promoted to the position of butler, appeared, smug-faced and solemn, in silent announcement of dinner.
For the time being the subject was abandoned, but presently when at table all were seated it was resumed.
“It will cost the country $50,000,000,” said Orr. He was at Fanny’s left. At her right was Loftus.
“Well,” said Annandale, emptying a glass of Ruinart, “I am glad I don’t have to produce it.” Emptying another glass he added, “I have produced all I could.”
“I think I do not quite understand,” said Mrs. Waldron, who led a highly unspeculative life and seldom saw the evening papers.
Orr and Annandale both hastened to enlighten her. Ever since the Presidential election there had been a boom in the Street, a soaring market in which the whole community, down to and including messenger boys and chorus girls, had joined. On this, the ninth of May, it had, in the slang of the Street, just “busted.” Since the great black day of a generation previous, never had there been such a crash, so many landed gentry, so much paper profit sunk into such absolute loss.
In the flow of talk Fanny turned to Loftus.
“How is the lady?”
Loftus, whose mouth was full of jellied consommé, did not answer for a moment. Then he made a slight gesture. “She has gone.”
“Already?”
“I had your orders!”