Up the street and into Fifth Avenue glided the car and sped northward through the cold, silvery lustre of the arc-lights hanging like globes of moonlit ice from their frozen stalks of bronze.
The noble avenue was almost deserted; nobody cared to face such terrible cold. Few motors were abroad, few omnibuses, and scarcely a wayfarer. Every sound rang metallic in the black and bitter air; the windows of the coupe clouded from his breath; the panels creaked.
At the Plaza he peered fearfully out upon the deserted Circle, where the bronze lady of the fountain, who is supposed to represent Plenty, loomed high in the electric glow, with her magic basket piled high with icicles.
"Yes, plenty of ice," sneered Vaux. "I wish she'd bring us a hod or two of coal."
The wintry landscape of the Park discouraged him profoundly.
"A man's an ass to linger anywhere north of the equator," he grumbled. "Dickybirds have more sense." And again he thought of the wood fire in the club and the partly empty but steaming glass, and the aroma it had wafted toward him; and the temperature it must have imparted to "Bill."
He was immersed in arctic gloom when at length the car stopped. A butler admitted him to a brown-stone house, the steps of which had been thoughtfully strewn with furnace cinders.
"Miss Erith?"
"Yes, sir."
"Announce Mr. Vaux, partly frozen."
"The library, if you please, sir," murmured the butler, taking hat and coat.
So Vaux went up stairs with the liveliness of a crippled spider, and Miss Erith came from a glowing fireside to welcome him, giving him a firm and slender hand.
"You ARE cold," she said. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you this evening."
He said: "Hum--hum--very kind--m'sure--hum--hum!"
There were two deep armchairs before the blaze; Miss Erith took one, Vaux collapsed upon the other.
She was disturbingly pretty in her evening gown. There were cigarettes on a little table at his elbow, and he lighted one at her suggestion and puffed feebly.
"Which?" she inquired smilingly.
He understood: "Irish, please."
"Hot?"
"Thank you, yes," When the butler had brought it, the young man began to regret the Racquet Club less violently.
"It's horribly cold out," he said. "There's scarcely a soul on the streets."
She nodded brightly: "It's a wonderful night for what we have to do. And I don't mind the cold very much."