“Why, Ida!” he exclaimed, holding her hand; “it’s awfully nice to see you here; won’t you sit down?” and he pushed his chair toward her.

But Ida Wade said no, she had just come in after a new book, and of course it had to be out.  But where had he kept himself so long?  That was the way he threw off on her; ah, yes, he was going with Miss Ravis now and wouldn’t look at any one else.

Vandover protested against this, and Ida Wade went on to ask him why he couldn’t come up to call on her that very night, adding: 

“We might go to the Tivoli or somewhere.”  All at once she interrupted herself, laughing, “Oh, I heard all about you the other night. ’Cherries are ripe!’ You and the boys painted the town red, didn’t you?  Ah, Van, I’m right on to you!”

She would not tell him how she heard, but took herself off, laughing and reminding him to come up early.

Ida Wade belonged to a certain type of young girl that was very common in the city.  She was what men, among each other, called “gay,” though that was the worst that could be said of her.  She was virtuous, but the very fact that it was necessary to say so was enough to cause the statement to be doubted.  When she was younger and had been a pupil at the Girls’ High School, she had known and had even been the companion of such girls as Turner Ravis and Henrietta Vance, but since that time girls of that class had ignored her.  Now, almost all of her acquaintances were men, and to half of these she had never been introduced.  They had managed to get acquainted with her on Kearney Street, at theatres, at the Mechanics’ Fair, and at baseball games.  She loved to have a “gay” time, which for her meant to drink California champagne, to smoke cigarettes, and to kick at the chandelier.  She was still virtuous and meant to stay so; there was nothing vicious about her, and she was as far removed from Flossie’s class as from that of Turner Ravis.

She was very clever; half of her acquaintances, even the men, did not know how very “gay” she was.  Only those—­like Vandover—­who knew her best, knew her for what she was, for Ida was morbidly careful of appearances, and as jealous of her reputation as only fast girls are.

Bessie Laguna was her counterpart.  Bessie was “the girl she went with,” just as Henrietta Vance was Turner’s “chum” and Nannie was Flossie’s “running-mate.”

Ida lived with her people on Golden Gate Avenue not far from Larkin Street.  Her father had a three-fourths interest in a carpet-cleaning establishment on Howard Street, and her mother gave lessons in painting on china and on velvet.  Ida had just been graduated from the normal school, and often substituted at various kindergartens in the city.  She hoped soon to get a permanent place.