“You see,” said Wayland, “Ouida spent some time in study at Rome. For a few months she worked hard, and behaved herself quite well, but one sunny day she captivated the Cardinal, and so complete was his adoration, that he lost all discretion, and Rome rung with the open story of his mad infatuation. Finally the officers of the Vatican made known to her, that the sacred city could exist without her. She suddenly left her dear prelate, who, since that time, has been beyond consolation.” “A capital bit of romance,” said Connors, somewhat skeptical, “but who vouches for its truth?” “I had it almost direct,” said Doane, “from the Secretary of the American Legation, who was home last year from Rome on a visit to his people. But that story is tame, compared to what she did to Demas of the Comedie Francaise.” “Let’s hear it,” said Wayland, eagerly, “you never mar a poor tale in the telling of it.” Wayland was about to go, having heard all that he desired, but Doane restrained him, and he reluctantly was almost forced to listen to a style of gossip which, in his opinion, was good enough for the sewing circle, but little fitted for intelligent men. “Ouida,” said Doane, “was more than intimate with Demas, known to you all by reputation. But she fooled him, as she has every man who has thus far been lured into the magic circle of her regard. One night Demas was playing Falstaff in ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor.’ He was of ordinary size, but made himself up as the ‘huge hell of flesh,’ by a rubber apparatus, which was nightly filled with air. This night the cork came out which held the air in the rubber affair, and almost in the twinkling of an eye, he dwindled to his normal size, while his clothing hung about him like the folds of a collapsed balloon. The audience broke into a roar. The curtain was rung down, and it was fully fifteen minutes before order was sufficiently restored to allow the performance to proceed. Next day Demas was found dead in his apartments, a bullet wound in the temple. The press said it was chagrin. The real truth was that Ouida had led him on and on, until he thought she loved him. That night the fatal knowledge came to him that she was a heartless jilt, and he simply took the pistol route, with which to end his misery.” “Gentlemen,” said Connors, “you astonish me. I have heard of such creatures as you paint this woman, but never before had the distinguished honor of a personal acquaintance. I do believe that a grain or two of discount on such stuff would be wise and just to her.” “And yet,” said Wayland, “what a following she has, despite all this. Go into the ball room, and see New York at her feet.” “New York is the greatest city in the world,” said Doane, “yet it is the most easily duped.” “People, in their wild desire to be entertained,” said Connors, “pick and choose queer idols for worship.”