Mrs. Vane had a great favour to ask the men of the party to-night.  She proffered it somewhat doubtfully, like a spoiled child who is almost sure of being denied, yet risks its little charms in one more entreaty.  She and Paula, yes, and Mrs. Jerome, and little Julia—­wasn’t that so, Julia?—­wanted to see a roadhouse.  No—­no—­ no—­not the sort of place where nice women went, but a regular roadhouse—­oh, please, please, please!  They had their veils to tie over their faces, and they would keep very unobtrusively in the background, and there was a man apiece and two men over to protect them.

“All the girls in town are doing it!” argued Mrs. Vane, “and they say it’s perfectly killing!  Dancing, you know, and singing.  You have to keep your veil down, of course!  Betty said they’d been three times!”

“Nothing doing,” Jim said good-naturedly, shaking his head.

“Oh, now, don’t say that, Doctor!” Mrs. Vane commanded animatedly; “it’s too mean!  Well, if you couldn’t take us to the very worst, where could you take us—­Hunter’s?”

“Hunter’s!” the three men echoed, laughing and exchanging glances.

“Well, where then?” the lady pursued.

“Look here, Min,” said her husband uneasily, “there’s nothing to it.  And you girls might get insulted and mixed into something—­”

“Oh, divine!” Mrs. Billings said; “now I will go!”

“White’s, huh, Jim?” Greg suggested tentatively.

“White’s?” Jim considered it, shook his head.  “Nothing doing there, anyway!” was his verdict.

“Larry’s, where the pretty window boxes are,” suggested Mrs. Vane, hopeful eyes upon the judges.  “Come on!  Oh, come on!  You see such flossy ladies getting out of motor cars in front of Larry’s!”

“There’s this about Larry’s,” Mr. Billings contributed; “we could get one of those side places, and then, if things got too hot, just step out on to the porch, d’ye see, and get the girls away with no fuss at all.”

“That’s so,” Jim conceded; “but I’ll be darned if I know why they want to do it.  However—­”

“However, you’re all angels!” sang Mrs. Vane, and catching Julia about the waist, she began to waltz upon the pleasant meadow grass where they had just had their high tea.  “Come on, everybody!  We won’t be at Fernand’s until nearly night, then dinner, and then Larry’s!”

“Mind now,” growled one of the somewhat unwilling escort, “you girls keep your veils down.  Nix on the front-page story to-morrow!”

“Oh, we’ll behave!” Mrs. Billings assured him.  And slipping an affectionate arm about Julia’s waist, as they walked to the motor cars, she murmured:  “My dear, there isn’t one decent woman in the place!  Isn’t this fun!”