sake, but for sake of the glory it always won for her. In the little
remote music-hall, where she was soon appearing nightly as an "early
turn," she reaped glory in a nightly harvest. She could feel that all
the gallery-boys, because of her, were scornful of the sweethearts
wedged between them, and she knew that she had but to say "Will any
gentleman in the audience be so good as to lend me his hat?" for the
stalls to rise as one man and rush towards the platform. But greater
things were in store for her. She was engaged at two halls in the West
End. Her horizon was fast receding and expanding. Homage became
nightly tangible in bouquets, rings, brooches--things acceptable and
(luckier than their donors) accepted. Even Sunday was not barren for
Zuleika: modish hostesses gave her postprandially to their guests.
Came that Sunday night, notanda candidissimo calculo! when she
received certain guttural compliments which made absolute her vogue
and enabled her to command, thenceforth, whatever terms she asked for.

Already, indeed, she was rich. She was living at the most exorbitant
hotel in all Mayfair. She had innumerable gowns and no necessity to
buy jewels; and she also had, which pleased her most, the fine cheval-
glass I have described. At the close of the Season, Paris claimed her
for a month's engagement. Paris saw her and was prostrate. Boldini did
a portrait of her. Jules Bloch wrote a song about her; and this, for a
whole month, was howled up and down the cobbled alleys of Montmartre.
And all the little dandies were mad for "la Zuleika." The jewellers of
the Rue de la Paix soon had nothing left to put in their windows--
everything had been bought for "la Zuleika." For a whole month,
baccarat was not played at the Jockey Club--every member had succumbed
to a nobler passion. For a whole month, the whole demi-monde was
forgotten for one English virgin. Never, even in Paris, had a woman
triumphed so. When the day came for her departure, the city wore such