he Jolly Bohemian, or the Bold Adventuress, my task
would have been easy. But I had an uncomfortable feeling that Lola
Brandt was not to be classified in so simple a fashion. I took refuge in
a negative.

"She would hardly be a success," said I, "in serious political circles."

With that I made my escape.

CHAPTER V

I wish I had not called on Lola Brandt. She disturbs me to the point
of nightmare. In a fit of dream paralysis last night I fancied myself
stalked by a panther, which in the act of springing turned into Lola
Brandt. What she would have done I know not, for I awoke; but I have
a haunting sensation that she was about to devour me. Now, a woman who
would devour a sleeping Member of Parliament is not a fit consort for a
youth about to enter on a political career.

The woman worries me. I find myself speculating on her character while
I ought to be minding my affairs; and this I do on her own account,
without any reference to my undertaking to rescue Dale from her
clutches. Her obvious attributes are lazy good nature and swift
intuition, which are as contrary as her tastes in tobacco and tea; but
beyond the obvious lurks a mysterious animal power which repels and
attracts. Were not her expressions rather melancholy than sensuous,
rather benevolent than cruel, one might take her as a model for Queen
Berenice or the estimable lady monarchs who yielded themselves adorably
to a gentleman's kisses in the evening and saw to it that his head
was nicely chopped off in the morning. I can quite understand Dale's
infatuation. She may be as worthless as you please, but she is by no
means the vulgar syren I was led to expect. I wish she were. My task
would be easier. Why hasn't he fallen in love with one of the chorus
whom his congeners take out to supper? He is an aggravating fellow.

I have declined to discuss her merits or demerits with him. I could
scarcely do that with dignity, said I; a remark which seemed to impress
him with a sense of my honesty. I asked what were his intentions
regarding her. I discovered that they were still indefinite. In his
exalted moments he talked of marriage.

"But what has become of her husband?" I inquired, drawing a bow at a
venture.

"I suppose he's dead," said Dale.

"But suppose he isn't?"

He informed me in his young magnificence that Lola and himself would be
above foolish moral conventions.

"Indeed?" said I.

"Don't pretend to be a Puritan," said he.

"I don't