out. I promised to
sit through the circus, to attend the supper party afterwards and to do
the best I could to persuade Ascher to join our robber band.

CHAPTER IV.

Mrs. Ascher is not the woman to miss an entertainment she desires merely
because she lacks an invitation. She arrived at the door of the circus
in a taxicab with Ascher. Gorman and I were there and when he first saw
Mrs. Ascher he swore. However he was forced to give her some sort of
welcome and he did it pretty well, though I fear Ascher might have
noticed a note of insincerity in his voice. But that was only at first.
Gorman's temper changed when we reached our seats and Mrs. Ascher threw
off her cloak.

She was wearing an evening gown of the most startling design and colour.
I should have said beforehand that a woman with a skin as pallid as that
of a corpse and so little flesh that her bones stick up jaggedly would
be wise to avoid very low dresses. Mrs. Ascher displayed, when she took
off her cloak, as much skin and bone as she could without risking arrest
at the hands of the police. Her gown, what there was of it, was of a
vivid orange colour and she wore emeralds round her neck. If the main
object of wearing clothes is, as some philosophers maintain, to attract
attention, then Mrs. Ascher understands the art of dress. She created a
sensation. That was what pleased Gorman. He is a man who likes to be
the centre of interest wherever he is, or if that is not possible, to
be attached to the person who has secured that fortunate position. Mrs.
Ascher attracts the public gaze wherever she goes. I have seen people
turn round to stare at her in the dining room of the Ritz in New York
and at supper in the Carlton in London. The men and women who formed
the audience in Gorman's circus were unaccustomed to daring splendour of
raiment. They actually gasped when Mrs. Ascher threw off her cloak and
Gorman felt glad that she had come.

She said a few words to me about the delight which an artist's soul
feels in coming into direct contact with the seething life of the
people, and she mentioned with appreciation a French picture, one of
Degas' I think, which represents ballet dancers practising their art.
Then she and Gorman settled down in two of the three seats reserved for
us. Ascher and I retired modestly to the back of what I may call the
dress circle. After a while when the performance was well under way,
Gorman's brother came in. I suppose the grea