Lola Velez was the rage for a season. She sprang into fame in a single night, and thenceforth held an undisputed position as the favorite of the London public. She was not exceptionally handsome, nor was her dancing distinguished by any special grace; but about her there was something weird and original, which appealed to her audience. Such an extraordinary dancer had never been seen on the stage. She capered like one in a frenzy, with mad leaps and bounds, and throughout her orgiastic performance behaved as one possessed. It was not so much the poetry of motion as the madness of movement. George Brendon had been instrumental in introducing her to the public, and she owed her position as much to his kindness as to her own genius.

It was a snowy winter's night when Brendon found her. He had just entered Pembroke Square, where he had lodgings, when he heard a moan. Turning aside into the shadow of a wall he found a woman lying there, exhausted with cold and hunger. Always anxious to do good, he brought the poor creature to his rooms. Under the influence of food and wine and warmth she revived sufficiently to tell her story.

Her name, she stated, was Lola Velez. She was Spanish by birth, but had lived many years in Italy. Trained as a dancer, she had appeared at several of the best theaters with more or less success; but owing to her violent temper she had lost all chance of gaining a permanent position. But that Lola was rendered weak by privations she would not have told George the exact truth; but she confessed to her temper, to a certain episode connected with the stabbing of a woman of whom she was jealous, and to the many quarrels which had resulted in her being thrown out of employment. Finding Italy too hot to hold her, she had danced her way to Paris through various small towns, but here, as elsewhere, her temper proved her ruin. Then she had crossed the Channel, only to find that the market was overstocked with dancers. Unable to obtain employment, and having very little money, the unfortunate woman had fallen lower and lower, until she was reduced to begging in the streets. Finally she was turned out of her poor lodgings and had expended her last sixpence on food. It was shortly after this that Brendon found her.

He acted the part of a good Samaritan. Giving her a sovereign; he sent her away, restored in a measure to her right mind. The next day he saw the proprietor of a music-hall, with whom he was acquainted, and procured her an engagement in a ballet. It was a Dresden china piece, and the violent dancing of Lola was by no means suited to the Watteau costumes and stately dances of the powder and patches type. But the manager--a shrewd Jew called Kowlaski--saw in his new recruit the possibilities of success. He staged a ballet adapted from "The Bacchanals" of Euripides, and Lola danced the part of Agave, the mother of Pentheus, who is rendered insane by Bacchus.

Her success was immediate. She enacted the part with a reckless abandon and a wild frenzy which thrilled the house. For the moment Lola was not herself, but the wild Theban Queen raging in the orgies of the Wine-god. All London came to see the frantic revels over which Lola presided, and night after night the little music-hall was filled to overflowing. Lola made good use of her fame. She insisted that her salary should be raised, took modest lodgings in Bloomsbury, and, for a time, saved her money as a provision against old age and poverty. On the stage she was a dancing demon, but at home no one could have been more modest. There was not a breath of scandal against her, in spite of Mrs. Ward's hint to Brendon.

This change in the formerly reckless woman was caused by love and gratitude to George. He had saved her from starvation, from death, he had procured her the engagement which had led to her success and present ease, and, figuratively speaking, she cast herself and all she had at his feet. Brendon found this excessive gratitude rather trying. Even then he was in love with Dorothy, whom he had met twice or thrice, and he was not disposed to accept the wild passion which Lola so freely offered to him. He tried to make her see reason, to look upon him as a friend and not as a lover, but in her insane way she resolutely refused to regard him as other than the man she intended to marry. In spite of her tempers and her wild career Lola had never erred, and so far Brendon could well have made her his wife. But he did not love her, and hardly relished the idea of taking this wild creature to his heart and home.

Lola could not understand this coldness. She was accustomed to see men at her feet and to spurn them. Now that she was willing to surrender her liberty and to give her love, it exasperated her to think that the one man she had chosen would have none of her. As yet she knew nothing of Brendon's love for Dorothy, but with the instinct of a jealous woman guessed that some such passion engrossed the mind of the man she desired to marry. Again and again she deluged George with questions, which he always refused to answer, so she could learn nothing. Wearied of her persistency, Brendon stopped away, and for a few weeks Lola did not see him. She followed him to his rooms, but found him absent. Then she saw his name in the papers connected with the Amelia Square tragedy, and wrote to him. He accepted her invitation and came to supper, less because of her desire than because he wished to speak to her about Bawdsey. The name of Lola Velez on the lips of the red man had startled Brendon almost as much as the fact that Bawdsey appeared to be acquainted with him. George could not recall meeting the man, and as he was not yet sufficiently famous for his name to be on the lips of the public, he wondered how it came about that Bawdsey knew of his existence. Anxious to know who the man was, he sent a note, marked private, to Miss Bull, and received a reply stating that Mr. Bawdsey was a new boarder, and, so far as she knew, a gentleman who lived on his income. But this did not satisfy Brendon, as it did not account for Bawdsey's knowledge. There remained Lola to question, and to Lola George went a night or two after the rescue of the red man. George made up his mind, and a strong mind it was, that he would not leave Lola until he knew positively how her name came to be mentioned by Bawdsey.

At eleven o'clock Lola was anxiously awaiting his arrival, and when he entered her little sitting-room she flew to kiss his hand, her usual extravagant form of greeting. George, like all Englishmen, hated scenes, and these Lola was always making. In vain had he tried to break her of these melodramatic tendencies. Her hot Southern blood would not cool, and she overwhelmed him with protestations of more than friendship. Of these he took no notice, and as it takes two to make love as well as to make a quarrel, Lola was yet far from gaining her heart's desire. This was a formal offer of marriage.

Having just returned from the music-hall, Lola wore a loose tea-gown of scarlet trimmed with glittering jet. It was a bizarre garment, but the vivid color suited her dark face and Southern looks. She was rather tall, very slender, and she moved with the dangerous grace of a pantheress. Her face was oval, sallow and thin, with ever-changing expressions. She was never two minutes the same, but her prevailing mood was one of fierce intensity. The smoldering fire in her great black eyes blazed into passionate love as she swept forward to greet her visitor.

"My deliverer, my adored!" she cried in moderately good English, and kissed his hand with burning lips.

George snatched it away. "Don't, Lola. You know I hate that sort of thing!" And so saying he threw down his coat and hat on the sofa at the far end of the room.

Lola shrugged her shoulders and coiled up a tress of her black hair which had come loose. Putting it in its place, she glanced into the mirror over the fireplace to see that her comb was at the right angle. She wore a diamond comb in the Spanish fashion. So fond was she of jewels that George sometimes fancied she must have Jewish blood in her veins. All her savings went in jewels--diamonds for choice. "They are pretty," Lola would say when Brendon remonstrated with her, "and when I am poor they can be changed into money. Oh, yes, why not?"

"Ah, but you are a cold blood, you English man," she said in allusion to Brendon's action. "But what would you--it is the fogs and cold snows. Come, my friend, to the table--to the table."

She clapped her hands, and seizing George by the arm forced him into a seat. The supper looked very tempting. Lola had an eye for the beautiful, and arranged the table herself. A tall silver lamp with a pink shade shed a roseate light on the white cloth, the glittering crystal, and the quaint silver spoons and forks. Lola had picked up these things at odd times and displayed very good taste in her selection. In the center of the table was an oval silver dish filled with pink roses. "What extravagance!" said George.

"Ah, bah! I got them from San Remo--from a friend of mine," said Lola, removing a dish-cover; "they cost me not one sou. George, my dear friend, the Chianti is in the flask there, and this macaroni? Eh?" George passed his plate. The viands were cooked in the Italian fashion, and there was a foreign air about the supper which was grateful after a long course of English cooking. What with the foreign dishes, the pink-shaded lamp, and the candles likewise in pink shades on mantelpiece and sideboard, George felt as though he were in a Soho restaurant. The night was cold, he was hungry, and the supper, with its surroundings, was novel. He therefore made a good meal. Lola watched him eat with satisfaction.

"Ah, you like my housekeepers," she said, meaning housekeeping; "it is to your mind. Yes? Eh, my friend, I could feed you as fat as pigs if you would but allow me."

"I don't want to be fat," retorted George, reaching for the Chianti. "Give me a cigarette, Lola."

She produced her own case, and not only supplied him with one, but insisted on placing it between his lips and on lighting it. George wriggled uncomfortably, but it was no use objecting to Lola's ways. She would indulge her whims at any price. And he did not wish to leave until he had accomplished his mission.

"There, little friend," cried Lola, when he was seated comfortably by the fire and she was puffing also at a cigarette, "now we must talk. Why have you not been? Oh! you wicked young boy!"

"I have been engaged," replied George, secretly admiring the careless grace with which she was half lying, half sitting in the armchair opposite. She showed a dainty foot encased in a red stocking and a red shoe. Lola was all in crimson from head to foot, save for the jet and her dark face and hair. She looked like some sorceress bent upon unholy conjurations.

"Engaged!" she repeated with a flash of her wonderful eyes. "That is words for 'I don't want to come.'"

George laughed, shook his head, and changed the subject. Her remark about having a friend in San Remo ran in his mind. "Have you ever been there?" he asked, naming the town.

"Ah, bah! have I been anywhere? All Italy I know--all--all."

"You know it better than Spain. Yet you are Spanish."

"I am whatever you desire, my George. Yes, I am of Spain--of Cadiz, where my parents sold oil to their ruin. They came to Italy, to Milan and made money to live from wine. I was trained to the dance--they died, and I, my friend----"

"You told me all this before," interrupted Brendon, ruthlessly. "I ask if you have ever been to San Remo?"

"Why, yes, assuredly, and why not?" She looked at him with narrowing eyes as she put the question, blinking like a cat.

"There is no reason, only I was thinking----" He paused.

"Eh, you think--of what?"

"Oh, something which does not concern you, Lola."

"All that is of you is to me," she responded. "I love you."

"Lola, be reasonable."

"Pschutt! I mock myself of your reason," she cried, snapping her fingers and speaking in quite a French way. "I leave reasons to your chilly English ladies. I--eh, but you know I am of the South. To you--to you, my adored preserver, do I give myself."

George grew angry. "If you talk like this, Lola, I shall go away."

"Ah, then good-night to you. Let it be adieu and never come back."

"Not at all. Be a reasonable woman and sit down. Give me some more wine and a cigarette. I want to ask you a question."

Lola poured out the wine and tossed him a cigarette, but she refused to sit down or to compose herself. In a flam............