crimson-silk covering. The whole effect was startling. One wondered why
she had chosen so elaborate a costume to waste upon a single college
student.

She stood with one dainty foot poised on the brass trappings of the
hearth. In her short skirts she seemed almost a child; so sweet the
droop of the pretty lips; so innocent the dark eyes as they looked into
the fire; so soft the shadows that played in the dark hair! And yet, as
she turned to listen for a step in the hall, there was something
gleaming, sinister, in those dark eyes, something mocking in the red
lips. She might have been a daughter of Satan as she stood, the
firelight picking out those jeweled horns and slippers.

"Leave him to me," she had said to her cousin when he told her how the
brilliant young athlete and intellectual star of the university had been
stung by the religious bug. "Send him to me. I'll take it out of him and
he'll never know it's gone."

Paul Courtland entered, unsuspecting. He had met Gila a number of times
before, at college dances and the games. He was not exactly flattered,
but decidedly pleased that she had sent for him. Her brightness and
seeming innocence had attracted him strongly.

The contrast from the hall with its blaze of electrics to the lurid
light of the library affected him strangely. He paused on the threshold
and passed his hand over his eyes. Gila stood where the ruby light of
hearth and lamp would set her vivid dress on fire and light the jewels
at her throat and hair. She knew her clear skin, dark hair, and eyes
would bear the startling contrast, and how her white shoulders gleamed
from the crimson velvet. She knew how to arrange the flaming scarf of