led in demoniac wrath, spat with malignant venom, and shot out its
claws. If I had touched it my hand would have been torn to shreds. I
have never seen a more malevolent, fierce, spiteful, ill-conditioned
brute in my life. My feelings being somewhat hurt, and my nerves a bit
shaken, I retreated hastily.

"Now look," said Lola Brandt.

With absolute fearlessness she went up to the cage, opened it, took
the unresisting thing out by the scruff of its neck, held it up like a
door-mat, and put it on her shoulder, where it forthwith began to purr
like any harmless necessary cat and rub its head against her cheek. She
put it on the floor; it arched its back and circling sideways rubbed
itself against her skirts.

She sat down, and taking the brute by its forepaws made it stand on its
hind legs. She pulled it on to her lap and it curled round lazily. Then
she hoisted it on to her shoulder again, and, rising, crossed the room
and bowed to the level of the cage, when the beast leaped in purring
thunderously in high good humour. Mr. Papadopoulos sang out in
breathless delight:

"If I am the King of Cats, you, Carissima, are the Queen. Nay, more, you
are the Goddess!"

Lola Brandt laughed. I did not. It was uncanny. It seemed as if some
mysterious freemasonic affinity existed between her and the evil beast.
During her drive hither she had entered my own atmosphere. She had
been the handsome, unconventional woman of the world. Now she seemed as
remote from me as the witches in "Macbeth."

If I had seen her dashing Paris hat rise up into a point and her
umbrella turn into a broomstick, and herself into one of the buxom
carlines of "Tam O'Shanter," I should not have been surprised. The feats
of the mild pussies which the dwarf began forthwith to exhibit provoked
in me but a polite counterfeit of enthusiasm. Lola Brandt had discounted
my interest. Even his performance with the ferocious Persian lacked the
diabolical certainty of Lola's handling. He locked all the other cats up
and enticed it out of the cage with a piece of fish. He guided it with
a small whip, as it jumped over gates and through blazing hoops, and he
stood tense and concentrated, like a lion-tamer.

The act over, the cat turned and snarled and only jumped into its cage
after a smart flick of the whip. The dwarf did not touch it once with
his hands. I applauded, however, and complimented him. He laid his hand
on his heart and bent forward in humility.

"Ah, mo