at is without saying, Mademoiselle," answered Susette, as she slipped
the silky fluff over the Violet's head, and fastened the one or two
hooks that held it in place over the filmy undergarments in which the
Violet stood waiting for its veiling. "_Mon Dieu_, what a beauty it
gives you, and that placing of the tulle is _ravissant_."

"That is what I meant it to be," laughed the Violet. "There's his car!
Bring me that orchid wrap when I ring for it." And leaving the
admiration of Susette, the Violet hurried down to drink from the cup of
the same vintage she was sure would be offered her by Mr. Dennis
Farraday. It was offered.

"It's awfully good of you people to help a poor lonely dub to a pleasant
evening," were the words with which the victim greeted the Violet, while
his eyes offered the expected portion of admiration as he beheld her
bathed in the radiance of the moon.

"Sure the pleasure is ours--or rather mine, poor old Van," she answered,
with not a little trepidation well hidden under her rich voice.

"Couldn't you wake him up, the old scout? Let me get to him. I have a
way with him I learned in the Nova Scotia woods." Mr. Farraday laughed a
big laugh, which had in it the tang of the breeze in the tops of
pine-trees. But the Violet was ready for him.

"He's not there for your torture. The poor darling got a telephone
message just twenty minutes ago to come back to New York to-night. I've
just motored him up the beach to catch the eleven-fifteen train. Some
day that tiresome Dolph will follow Van about some play snarl into--into
Paradise."

"He did that to-night, didn't he?" asked Mr. Farraday, with a merry
laugh as he ruffled his red forelock up off his broad brow, and made
himself look like a huge, tame lion.

"Away with your blarney, boy!" laughed the Violet, in return, using her
Maggie Murphy form of speech with telling effect, as she often did. "He
left a thousand apologies for you," she added, slipping back into her
veneer of the--for Maggie--upper world. "And you've had your race down
for nothing; poor Simone!"

"Oh, I say, can't we just go on over to supper at the Beach Inn? The
Clyde Trevors asked me, and we can have supper with them. Wouldn't you
like that? We can tell them about poor Van." He was as eager as a boy in
his friendly efforts to mend what he thought must be a broken evening
for her.

"I'd love it," answered the Violet, with a flash of her white teeth and
violet eyes at him.

Afte