Satan shaded his eyes with one hand. He appeared not to be thinking so much as looking. As if from under a blower, the inflammable imagination of him glowed--glowed on Dolores Trent. The prime minister, on returning, settled in his chair and claimed the keen ear which, through ages past, had considered his suggestions. “This modern Delilah, Excellency, I consider unique in that she cannot be classed by the naked eye. She is not, so to speak, a type. Might I call your attention to the tact with which she maintains silence, while you----” “You might not. I detest to have fine bits of the play diagramed by my seat-mate. Have I or have I not eyes of my own?” “But, Sire----” “But the buts! Haven’t I paid at least as much admission as you?” All eyes focused upon the Master, except those of the ancient hypocrite. His settled appreciatively upon her who indeed had distracted the royal resentment from himself. The pause which lapsed he had the temerity to break, although in a vague voice, as if to himself: “Hell to be lonely.... Some sympathy soul.... Boss looker like you.... Try anything once or twice.” “Try anything once and forever except hoodwinking me.” If Sin’s pride was hurt by the King’s public rebuke, it must have been salved next moment with the proof that his advice was being found tenable. His Highness to the court: “As a bad lot, this earthling pair would seem to deserve labors different from any yet devised. Until I decide upon some special form of punishment I shall keep them in the palace. Dame Dolores comes highly recommended to my ingenuity. That I may observe her vices, I appoint her for the nonce First Royal Entertainer. She shall relate to me those griefs which she has caused on Earth.” His glance veered to the veteran. “Always have I envied the angels their ability to weep--never have lived down the ambition to emulate their pietism with just one tear. Mayhap I shall be moved to that extent by these earth-tales of Grief to Men. I am _so_ temperamental. In view of which possibility, Samuel Cummings, I hereby create for you the office of Holder of the Crocodile Tear Bowl to my Majesty. As for the bastard babe----” Dolores, at his flint-hard gaze, clutched closer the tiny soul of her soul. Intensely she awaited his words. “Don’t crucify yourself with maternal fears, my beauty. We are pleased to let the Littlest Devil stick around. Ever notice how the strongest villain has weakness for a brat? Yours is about as young as they come--almost a native, one might say. He will give the palace a homey look.” “She, sir.” “_She._ I beg _its_ pardon.” “You are so much kinder than I was led to expect.” To his consideration the young mother lifted the radium glow of her gratitude. “From hints I heard at the Mystery Gate, I gathered that you were--that you might be----”