urther bewildered the young woman, whose appearance that evening
at the famous cafe on the East Side was her initial one. The heat, the
bristling lights, the terrific appealing clamour of the gypsy band, set
murmuring the nerves of this impressionable girl. And the agility of the
_cymbalom_ player, his great height, clear skin, and piercing eyes,
quite enthralled her.

"It is the gypsy dulcimer, Lora; I read all about it in Liszt's book on
gypsy music," said Aunt Lucas, in an airy soprano.

Mr. Steyle was impressed. Lora paid no attention, but continued to gaze
curiously at the antics of the player, who hammered from his instrument
of wire shivering, percussive music. With flexible wrists he swung the
felt-covered mallets that brought up such resounding tones; at times
his long, apelike arms would reach far asunder and, rolling his eyes, he
touched the extremes of his _cymbalom_; then he described furious
arpeggios, punctuated with a shrill tattoo. And the crazy music defiled
by in a struggling squad of chords; but Arpad Vihary never lifted his
eyes from Lora Crowne....

The vibration ceased. Its withdrawal left the ear-drums buzzing with a
minute, painful sensation, like that of moisture rapidly evaporating
upon the naked skin. A battalion of tongues began to chatter as the
red-faced waiters rushed between the tables, taking orders. It was after
eleven o'clock, and through the swinging doors passed a throng of motley
people, fanning, gossiping, bickering--all eager and thirsty. Clarence
Steyle pointed out the celebrities with conscious delight. Over
yonder--that man with the mixed gray hair--was a composer who came every
night for inspiration,--musical and otherwise, Clarence added, with a
laugh. And there was the young and well-known decadent playwright who
wore strangling high collars and transposed all his plays from French
sources; he lisped and was proud of his ability to dramatize the latest
mental disease. And a burglar who had written a famous book on the
management of children during hot weather sat meekly resting before a
solitary table.

The leader of the Hungarian band was a gypsy who called himself Alfassy
Janos, though he lived on First Avenue, in a flat the door of which
bore this legend: _Jacob Aron_. The rest of the band seemed gypsy. Who
is the _cymbalom_ player? That is not difficult to answer; the programme
gives it.

"There you are, Miss Lora."

She looked. "Oh, what a romantic name! He must