midnight
_ Quelle vie ! _ '' she muttered to herself as she turned back into the darkened house . The Beach Inn was aglow and atwinkle and in full laugh as they ascended the steps of the wide veranda hung out over the ocean , where members and guests were having supper at small tables lit with shaded lamps . Men and girls , in bathing suits that were lineal descendants of the scant fig-leaf , were eating and drinking together sparsely because of their intention of taking a midnight plunge in the breakers under the hot moon , while other women in radiant evening garb were almost as scantily attired , though attended by stuffily garbed men . Most of the parties turned and called a laughing greeting to the Violet , for they were the men and women of her world disporting themselves away from Broadway , and Clyde Trevor , who had written the book for `` Miss Cut-up , '' rose and came over to claim his guests . `` Lost Van ? '' he questioned , as he led them to their seats beside Mrs. Trevor , who had danced fifty thousand dollars out of New York the winter just ended .