Lorelei had never seen this much-discussed actress, whose wickedness had set the town agog, and her first impression was vaguely disappointing. Miss Demorest's beauty was by no means remarkable, although it was accentuated by the most bizarre creation of the French shops. She was animated, audacious, Gallic in accent and postures--she was vividly alive with a magnetism that meant much more than beauty; but she over-exerted her voice, and her song was nothing to excite applause. At last she was off, in a whirl of skirts, a generous display of hosiery, and a great bobbing of the aigrette pompon that towered above her like an Indian head-dress. Only a moment later she was on again, this time in a daring costume of solid black, against and through which her limbs flashed with startling effect as she performed her famous Danse de Nuit. "Hm-m! Nothing very extreme about that," remarked Merkle, at length. "It would be beautiful if it were better done." Lorelei agreed. She had been staring with all a woman's intentness at this sister whose strength consisted of her frailty, and now inquired: "How does she get away with it?" "By the power of suggestion, I dare say. Her public is looking for something devilish, and discovers whatever it chooses to imagine in what she says and does." Hannibal Wharton had changed his seat, and, regardless of the dancer, began a conversation with Merkle. After a time Lorelei heard him say: "It cost me five thousand dollars to pay for the damage those boys did. They threatened to jail Bob, but of course I couldn't allow that." "I remember. That was five years ago, and Bob hasn't changed a whit. I think he's a menace to society." Wharton laughed, but his reply was lost in the clamorous demand for an encore by Mlle. Demorest. "So he gets his devilment from you, eh?" Merkle inquired. "It isn't devilment. Bob's all right. He's running with a fast crowd, and he has to keep up his end." "Bah! He hasn't been sober in a year." "You're a dyspeptic, John. You were born with a gray beard, and you're not growing younger. He wanted to come to this party, but--I didn't care to have him for obvious reasons, so I told Hammon to refuse him even if he asked. He bet me a thousand dollars that he'd come anyhow, and I've been expecting him to overpower those doormen or creep up the fire-escape." The hand-clapping ceased as the dancer reappeared, smiling and bowing. "I will dance again if you wish," she announced, in perfect English, "introducing my new partner, Mr.--" she glanced into the wings inquiringly--"Senor Roberto. It is his first public appearance in this country, and we will endeavor to execute a variation of the Argentine tango. Senor Roberto is a poor boy; he begs you to applaud him in order that he may secure an engagement and support his old father." She stooped laughingly to confer with the orchestra leader, who had broken cover at her announcement.