midnight
cried Nance with a fine show of indifference . `` That 's what a rain-coat 's for . '' When Mac had dexterously backed his machine out of its close quarters , and was threading his way with reckless skill through the crowded streets , he said softly , without turning his head : `` I think I rather like you , Nance Molloy ! '' The tenth annual carnival ball , under the auspices of a too-well-known political organization , was at its midnight worst . It was one of those conglomerate gatherings , made up of the loose ends of the city -- ward politicians , girls from the department stores , Bohemians with an unsated thirst for diversion , reporters , ostensibly looking for copy , women just over the line of respectability , sometimes on one side , sometimes on the other , and the inevitable sprinkling of well-born youths who regard such occasions as golden opportunities for seeing that mysterious phantom termed `` life . '' It was all cheap and incredibly tawdry , from the festoons of paper roses on the walls to the flash of paste jewels in make-believe crowns . The big hall , with its stage flanked by gilded boxes , was crowded with a shifting throng of maskers in costumes of flaunting discord .