"This joker," cried Sally, "will take a ticket if something wins a Lincoln, and he doesn't know which." She stood in the doorway, her arms akimbo. "People are very busy here," she snarled, when a woman tried to pass. "I beg your pardon," said the ex-chorus girl. "And a good thing too," said Sally. "You are one of the busy ones, just got your salary for shoving, I suppose." There was no competing with Sally's tongue, and the girl passed without replying. This queen of song was attired in a flowery gown of pale green, and she wore a large hat lavishly trimmed with wild flowers; she moved slowly, conscious of her importance and fame. But at that moment a man in a check suit said, doffing his cap, "Very pleased to see you here, Miss Slater." Sally looked him over. "Well, I can't help that." "I was at your benefit. Mr. Jackson was there, and he introduced me to you after the performance." "No, I'm sure he didn't." "I beg your pardon, Miss Slater. Don't you remember when Peggy Praed got on the table and made a speech?" "No, I don't; you saw _me_ on the stage and you paid your money for that. What more do you want?" "I assure you--" "Well, that's all right, now's your chance to lend me a fiver." "I'll lend you a fiver or a tenner, if you like, Miss Slater." "You could not do it if you tried, and now the roast pork's off." The witticism was received with a roar from her admirers, and satisfied with her victory, she said--"And now, you girls, you come and have drinks with me. What will you have, Kitty, what will you have? give it a name." Kitty protested but was forced to sit down. The courtesans joined the comic vocalists, waiting to do their "turns." Lord Muchross and Lord Snowdown ordered magnums, and soon the hall was almost deserted. A girl was, however, dancing prettily on the stage, and Mike stood to watch her. Her hose were black, and in limp pink silk skirts she kicked her slim legs surprisingly to and fro. After each dance she ran into the wings, reappearing in a fresh costume, returning at length in wide sailor's trousers of blue silk, her bosom partially covered in white cambric. As the band played the first notes of the hornpipe, she withdrew a few hair-pins, and forthwith an abundant darkness fell to her dancing knees, almost to her tiny dancing feet, heavy as a wave, shadowy as sleeping water. As some rich weed that the warm sea holds and swings, as some fair cloud lingers in radiant atmosphere, her hair floated, every parted tress an impalpable film of gold in the crude sunlight of the ray turned upon her; and when she danced towards the footlights, the bright softness of the threads clung almost amorously about her white wrists--faint cobwebs hanging from white flowers were not more faint, fair, and soft; wonderful was the hair of this dancing girl, suggesting all fabled enchantments, all visions of delicate perfume and all the poetry of evanescent colour.