have his cake----"

But, with a wave of her hand, Vi was gone. Leighton heard Nelton running
down the stairs to call a cab for her.




CHAPTER XXXIV


Mlle. Folly Delaires was not born within a stone's throw of the Paris
fortifications, as her manager would have liked you to believe, but in
an indefinite street in Cockneydom, so like its mates that, in the words
of Folly herself, she had to have the homing instinct of a pigeon to
find it at all. Folly's original name had been--but why give it away?
She was one of those women who are above and beyond a name--of a class,
or, rather, of a type that a relatively merciful world produces
sparingly. She was all body and no soul.

From the moment that Lewis kissed Folly, and then kissed her several
times more, discovering with each essay depths in the art which even his
free and easy life had never given him occasion to dream of, he became
infatuated--so infatuated that the following dialogue passed over him
and did not wake him.

"Why are you crying?" asked Lewis, whom tears had never before made
curious.

"I'm crying," gasped Folly, stamping her little foot, "because it's