True, I did expect to see Steele at Vicky Van's--he was the club chap
who had introduced me there--but as Aunt Lucy had so cleverly
suspected, he was not my sole reason for going. A bigger reason was
that I always had a good time there, the sort of a good time I liked.

I crossed the street diagonally, in defiance of much good advice I
have heard and read against such a proceeding. But at eleven o'clock
at night the traffic in those upper side streets is not sufficient to
endanger life or limb, and I reached Vicky Van's house in safety.

It was a very small house, and it was the one nearest to the Fifth
Avenue corner, though the long side of the first house on that block
of the Avenue lay between.

The windows on each floor were brilliantly lighted, and I mounted the
long flight of stone steps sure of a merry welcome and a jolly time.

I was admitted by a maid whom I already knew well enough to say
"Evening, Julie," as I passed her, and in another moment, I was in the
long, narrow living-room and was a part of the gay group there.

"Angel child!" exclaimed Vicky Van herself, dancing toward me, "did he
come to see his little ole friend?" and laying her two hands in mine
for an instant, she considered me sufficiently welcomed, and danced
off again. She was a will o' the wisp, always tantalizing a man with a
hope of special attention, and then flying away to another guest, only
to treat him in the same way.

I looked after her, a slim, graceful thing, vibrant with the joy of