These train trips were the very latest diversion of the well-to-do; a year ago no one had heard of them, and now fifty parties were leaving New York every month.  You might see a dozen of such hotel-trains at once at Palm Beach; there were some people who lived on board all the time, having special tracks built for them in pleasant locations wherever they stopped.  One man had built a huge automobile railroad car, shaped like a ram, and having accommodation for sixty people.  The Prentice train had four cars, one of them a “library car,” finished in St. lago mahogany, and provided with a pipe-organ.  Also there were bath-rooms and a barber-shop, and a baggage car with two autos on board for exploring purposes.

Since the episode of Mrs. Winnie, Oliver had apparently concluded that his brother was one of the initiated.  Not long afterward he permitted him to a glimpse into that side of his life which had been hinted at in the songs at the bachelors’ dinner.

Oliver had planned to take Betty Wyman to the theatre; but Betty’s grandfather had come home from the West unexpectedly, and so Oliver came round and took his brother instead.

“I was going to play a joke on her,” he said.  “We’ll go to see one of my old flames.”

It was a translation of a French farce, in which the marital infidelities of two young couples were the occasion of many mishaps.  One of the characters was a waiting-maid, who was in love with a handsome young soldier, and was pursued by the husband of one of the couples.  It was a minor part, but the young Jewish girl who played it had so many pretty graces and such a merry laugh that she made it quite conspicuous.  When the act was over, Oliver asked him whose acting he liked best, and he named her.

“Come and be introduced to her,” Oliver said.

He opened a door near their box.  “How do you do, Mr. Wilson,” he said, nodding to a man in evening dress, who stood near by.  Then he turned toward the dressing-rooms, and went down a corridor, and knocked upon one of the doors.  A voice called, “Come in,” and he opened the door; and there was a tiny room, with odds and ends of clothing scattered about, and the girl, clad in corsets and underskirt, sitting before a mirror.  “Hello, Rosalie,” said he.

And she dropped her powder-puff, and sprang up with a cry—­“Ollie!” ’In a moment more she had her arms about his neck.

“Oh, you wretched man,” she cried.  “Why don’t you come to see me any more?  Didn’t you get my letters?”

“I got some,” said he.  “But I’ve been busy.  This is my brother, Mr. Allan Montague.”

The other nodded to Montague, and said, “How do you do?”—­but without letting go of Oliver.  “Why don’t you come to see me?” she exclaimed.

“There, there, now!” said Oliver, laughing good-naturedly.  “I brought my brother along so that you’d have to behave yourself.”

“I don’t care about your brother!” exclaimed the girl, without even giving him another glance.  Then she held Oliver at arm’s length, and gazed into his face.  “How can you be so cruel to me?” she asked.