spaces, brocade, pointed bodices, high heels and guitars. And in
expression how much more perfect is he than his ancestor, the Faun!
His animality is indicated without coarse or awkward symbolism;
without cloven hoof or hirsute ears--only a white face, a long white
dress with large white buttons, and a black skull-cap; and yet,
somehow, the effect is achieved. The great white creature is not
quite human--hereditary sin has not descended upon him; he is not
quite responsible for his acts.'"

"I like the paragraph," said Harding; "you finish up, of course, with
the apotheosis of pantomimists, and announce him as one of the lions
of the season. Who are your other lions and lionesses?"

"The others will be far better," said Mike. He took a cigarette from
a silver box on the table, and, speaking as he puffed at it, entered
into the explanation of his ideas.

Mademoiselle D'Or, the _premiere danseuse_ who had just arrived from
Vienna, was to be the lioness of next week. Mike told how he would
translate into words the insidious poetry of the blossom-like skirt
that the pink body pierces like a stem, the beautiful springing,
the lifted arms, then the flight from the wings; the posturing, the
artificial smiles; this art a survival of Oriental tradition; this
art at once so carnal and so enthusiastically ideal. "A prize-fighter
will follow the _danseuse_. And I shall gloat in Gautier-like
cadence--if I can catch it--over each superb muscle and each splendid
development. But my best article will be on Kitty Carew. Since Laura
Bell and Mabel Grey our courtesans have been but a mediocre lot."

"You must not say that in the _Pilgrim_--we should offend all our
friends," Harding said, and he poured himself out a brandy-and-soda.

Mike laughed, and walking up and down the room, he continued--

"That it should be so is inexplicable, that it is so is certain; we
have not had since Mabel Grey died a courtesan whom a foreign prince,
passing London, would visit as a matter of course as he would visit
St. Paul's or Westminster Abbey; and yet London has advanced
enormously in all that constitutes wealth and civilization. In Paris,
as in ancient Greece, courtesans are rich, brilliant, and depraved;
here in London the women are poor, stupid, and almost virtuous. Kitty
is revolution. I know for a fact that she has had as much as L1000
from a foreign potentate, and she spends in one day upon her
tiger-cat what would keep a poor family in a