ell, Le Mire danced for them.

For myself it was barely interesting; I have passed the inner portals
of the sacred temples of India, and the human body holds no surprises
for me. But the good people of San Francisco were shocked, astonished,
and entranced. Not a man in the room but was Le Mire's slave; even the
women were forced to applaud. She became at once a goddess and an
outcast.

The newspapers of the following morning were full of it, running the
scale of eulogy, admiration, and wonder. And one of the articles,
evidently written by a man who had been considerably farther east than
San Francisco, ended with the following paragraph:

In short, it was sublime, and with every movement and every gesture
there was a something hidden, a suggestion of a personality and
mysterious charm that we have always heretofore considered the
exclusive property of just one woman in the world. But Desiree Le Mire
is not in San Francisco; though we declare that the performance of last
evening was more than enough to rouse certain suspicions, especially in
view of Le Mire's mysterious disappearance from New York.

I took the paper to Desiree in her room, and while she read the article
stood gazing idly from a window. It was about eleven in the morning;
Harry had gone for a walk, saying that he would return in half an hour
to join us at breakfast.

"Well?" said Desiree when she had finished.

"But it is not well," I retorted, turning to face her. "I do not
reproach you; you are being amused, and so, I confess, am I. But your
name--that is, Le Mire--has been mentioned, and discovery is sure to
follow. We must leave San Francisco at once."

"But I find it entertaining."

"Nevertheless, we must leave."

"But if I choose to stay?"

"No; for Harry would stay with you."

"Well, then--I won't go."

"Le Mire, you will go?"

She sent me a flashing glance, and for a moment I half expected an
explosion. Then, seeming to think better of it, she smiled:

"But where? We can't go west without falling into the ocean, and I
refuse to return. Where?"

"Then we'll take the ocean."

She looked up questioningly, and I continued:

"What would you say to a yacht--a hundred and twenty foot steamer, with
a daredevil captain and the coziest little cabins in the world?"

"Bah!" Le Mire snapped her fingers to emphasize her incredulity. "It
does not exist."

"But it does. Afloat and in commission, to be had for the asking