"Look at that man over there," laughed Lola, who had caught sight of some one falling down. "How sheepish men look when they fall, don't they?"
"We'll have to take a coach to-night," answered Carrie, absently.
In the lobby of the Imperial, Mr. Charles Drouet was just arriving, shaking the snow from a very handsome ulster. Bad weather had driven him home early and stirred his desire for those pleasures which shut out the snow and gloom of life. A good dinner, the company of a young woman, and an evening at the theatre were the chief things for him.
"Why, hello, Harry!" he said, addressing a lounger in one of the comfortable lobby chairs. "How are you?"
"Oh, about six and six," said the other.
"Rotten weather, isn't it?"
"Well, I should say," said the other. "I've been just sitting here thinking where I'd go to-night."
"Come along with me," said Drouet. "I can introduce you to something dead swell."
"Who is it?" said the other.
"Oh, a couple of girls over here in Fortieth Street. We could have a dandy time. I was just looking for you."