"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.

Ida's face was ablaze, her eyes flashing, her blond hair disordered and falling about her cheeks.
Vandover put his arm about her neck and drew her toward him, and as she sank down upon him, smiling and complaisant, her hair tumbling upon her shoulders and her head and throat bent back, he leaned his cheek against hers, speaking in a low voice.
"No--no," she murmured, smiling; "never--ah, if I hadn't come--no, Van--please--" And then with a long breath she abandoned herself.
About midnight he left her at the door of her house on Golden Gate Avenue.

On their way home Ida had grown more serious than he had ever known her to be.