"Like it?" he cried. "Why I'd give my ears for it."

   "Then," said I, playing my winning card, "let us hear no more about Lola Brandt."

   He gave me a swift glance, and walked up and down the room for a while in silence. Presently he halted in front of me.

   "Look here, Simon, you're a beast, but"—he smiled frankly at the quotation—"you're a just beast. You oughtn't to rub it in like that about Lola until you have seen her yourself. It isn't fair."

   "You speak now in language distinctly approaching that of reason," I remarked. "What do you want me to do?"

   "Come with me this afternoon and see her."

   My young friend had me nicely in the trap. I could not refuse.

   "Very well," said I. "But on the distinct understanding—"

   "Oh, on any old understanding you like!" he cried, and darted to the door.

   "Where are you going?"

   "To ring her up on the telephone and tell her you're coming."

   That's the worst of the young. They have such a disconcerting manner of clinching one's undertakings.

   My first impression of Lola Brandt in the dimness of the room was that of a lithe panther in petticoats rising lazily from the depths of an easy chair. A sinuous action of the arm, as she extended her hand to welcome me, was accompanied by a curiously flexible turn of the body. Her hand as it enveloped, rather than grasped, mine seemed boneless but exceedingly powerful. An indoor dress of brown and gold striped Indian silk clung to her figure, which, largely built, had an appearance of great strength. Dark bronze hair and dark eyes, that in the soft light of the room glowed with deep gold reflections, completed the pantherine suggestion. She seemed to be on the verge of thirty. A most dangerous woman, I decided—one to be shut up in a cage with thick iron bars.

   "It's charming of you to come. I've heard so much of you from Mr. Kynnersley. Do sit down."

   Her voice was lazy and languorous and caressing like the purr of a great cat; and there 

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