"And what became of it then?" laughed Doane.
"The fourth night," said Connors, sorrowfully, "the leading man did not appear. He afterward explained that he could not stand the forcible appreciation of the admiring gallery."
The trio talked, smoked and sipped champagne for quite a while. Suddenly it occurred to the editor that it was about time for him to fill an engagement in the ball room.
"By the way, I promised, after considerable persuasion, to dance with Ouida," said Doane, "and even my gout shall not deprive her of that pleasure."
"The conceited wretch," said Connors. "He talks as though he conferred a favor."
"I do," said Doane, as he went off in search of his partner, "there are but few women in this world I would really dance with."
He returned in a moment, mad as a March hare. He had been too late, and fifty had pleaded for his place upon her programme of dances.
"A most remarkable woman," said Connors.
"Peculiar, isn't it, how a person like her could so have mastered the world?" observed Wayland. "I have heard that but a comparatively few years ago she was the most common and obtainable creature on the streets of New York."
"I care not what may have been her past," said Connors, with comparative warmth, "today she is verily a mistress of her art."
"She is now putting the finishing touches," said Doane, "on 'A Modern Hercules,' a work which, in my judgment, compares favorably with that of the ancient Italian artists."
