Up in the servant’s bedroom in Dover Street, before a square of mirror, Lola practised and rehearsed for her eventual debut,—the form of which was on the knees of the gods. She had entered her term of apprenticeship quite prepared to serve conscientiously for at least a year,—a long probation for one so young and eager. Probably she would have continued to study and listen and watch, with gathering impatience, but for a sudden hurrying forward of the clock brought about by the gift of a frock,—rustling with silk. A failure, because the dressmaker, with the ineffable cheek of these people, had entirely departed from Feo’s rigid requirements, it provided Lola with the key to life. Giving one yell at the sight of it, Feo was just about to rip it in pieces when she caught the longing eyes of her maid. Whereupon, with the generosity which is so easy when it is done with other people’s money, she said, “Coming over,” rolled it into a ball and threw it at Lola. It was, as may be imagined, a very charming and reasonable garment such as might have been worn by a perfectly respectable person. On her way home that night, Lola dropped in to her own little dressmaker who lived in one of the numerous dismal villas off Queen’s Road, for the purpose of having it altered to fit her. It was miles too large. She had eventually brought it back to Dover Street and hidden it away behind one of her day frocks in her only cupboard, and every time that she took a peep at it, her eyes sparkled and her breath came short and she wondered when and how she could possibly wear it. Filled with a great longing to try her wings and fly out of the cage like the canary of which she had spoken to Ernest Treadwell, there were moments in her life now when she was consumed with impatience. The poet of the public library, the illiterate and ecstatic valet, the pompous butler and the two cockney footmen,—she had grown beyond all these. She was absolutely sure of herself as an honorary member of the Feo “gang.” She felt that she could hold her own now with the men of their class. If she were right, her apprenticeship would be over. Fully fledged, she could proceed with her great scheme. The chance came as chances always do come, and as usual she took it. Several days after Lytham’s talk with Fallaray—which had left them both in that state of irresolution which seemed to have infected every one—Lady Feo went off for the week-end, leaving Lola behind. The party had been arranged on the spur of the moment and was to take place in a cottage with a limited number of bedrooms. If Lady Feo had given the thing a moment’s thought, she would have told Lola to take three days holiday. But this she had forgotten to do. And so there was Lola in Dover Street with idle hands. The devil finds some mischief still——