It was between nine and ten o'clock, and the Imperial was quiet as yet;
a few men were drinking in the barroom outside, and Toby, the red-eyed
waiter, was talking in low tones to a girl under one of the electric
lights.
Vandover and Ida went into one of the larger rooms in the rear passage
and shut the door. Ida pushed her bolero jacket from her shoulders,
saying, "This seems nice and quiet enough."
"Well, of course," answered Vandover, as though dismissing the question
for good. "Now, what are we going to have? I say we have champagne and
oysters."
"Let's have Cliquot, then," exclaimed Ida, which was the only champagne
she had ever heard of besides the California brands.
She was very excited. This was the kind of "gay" time she delighted in,
tete-a-tete champagne suppers with men late at night. She had never been
in such a place as the Imperial before, and the daring and novelty of
what she had done, the whiff of the great city's vice caught in this
manner, sent a little tremor of pleasure and excitement over all her
nerves.
They did not hurry over their little supper, but ate and drank slowly,
and had more oysters to go with the last half of their bottle.
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