"Don't you know this is a democratic country ?" "Not quite that democratic, is it, Walter ?" "The trouble with you," he retorted, "you don't know there's anybody in town except just this silk-shirt crowd." He paused, seeming to await a refutation; but as none came, he expressed himself definitely: "They make me sick." They were coming near their destination, and the glow of the big, brightly lighted house was seen before them in the wet night.

Other cars, not like theirs, were approaching this center of brilliance; long triangles of light near the ground swept through the fine drizzle; small red tail-lights gleamed again from the moist pavement of the street; and, through the myriads of little glistening leaves along the curving driveway, glimpses were caught of lively colours moving in a white glare as the limousines released their occupants under the shelter of the porte-cochere.
Alice clutched Walter's arm in a panic; they were just at the driveway entrance.

"Walter, we mustn't go in there." "What's the matter ?" "Leave this awful car outside." "Why, I----" "Stop!" she insisted, vehemently.

"You've got to! Go back!" "Oh, Glory!" The little car was between the entrance posts; but Walter backed it out, avoiding a collision with an impressive machine which swerved away from them and passed on toward the porte-cochere, showing a man's face grinning at the window as it went by.

"Flivver runabout got the wrong number!" he said.
"Did he SEE us ?" Alice cried.
"Did who see us ?" "Harvey Malone--in that foreign coupe." "No; he couldn't tell who we were under this top," Walter assured her as he brought the little car to a standstill beside the curbstone, out in the street.