Punch (74.1878)

142 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [March 30, 1878.

of mind has not yet forsaken him, he unloosed another buckle of
his gilet du soir, and breathed again.

She had seen him, she, the enchantress, the Circe, had seen him,
and determined to conquer that cold, proud man at all hazards.
And another, too, had watched the scene, the Loo-Loo. Concealing
her emotion with a light laugh, she raised her jewelled hand, and,
with a dexterous aim, hurled a twenty-guinea peach that went
pour les beaux yeux de Monsieur.

It succeeded in its object, for it attracted his attention to her for
whom he had once pretended to care; for whom now he cared no
more than the rap he had just received.

A low voice from the terrace whispered, in the Xlang dialect, in
his ear,

" Twiggum spoonin in the boat! You would separate 'em ?
lie telyerow. Cross your poor gipsy's 'and with silver."

Strapmore bent his head, and listened to the low-tongued, soft-
voiced Bohemian, and a strange unwonted fire burnt in his eye.

" I will! " he exclaimed, in answer to her whisper. And rushing
up the steps, he gained the room, where, among a hundred gamblers,
reckless with the exciting vapour of Red ordinaire and pique-viques,
and crowned with garlands of the choicest flowers, stood young Alf
Pinto throwing the dice, and staking more than all he had in the
world. At the door was the Loo-Loo, flushed and panting, with
roses, andjleurs de Colli, twined in her perfumed hair.

" See! " she exclaimed extending her fair, well-rounded, diamond-
covered arm to Strapmore, " the notes young Ale Pinto gave me
this morning to buy jewelled sweets with. Will you take them, or
shall I make cigarettes of them ? " And her dimpled, rose-tipped
fingers twisted up one note for ten thousand pounds with some.'scented
fragrant mixture of rare choufoine within.

Stkapmore snatched them from her.

"Take the boy away," he whispered hoarselv in her ear, "and
marry him. My brougham is at the door. You love him. I

know it"

The Loo-Loo bowed her head meekly. She knew that when Strap-
more spoke, he must be obeyed. A few minutes after and the
brougham had left for town with Alp Pinto Peeze and the Loo-Loo.
_ Strapmore descended to the terrace, and peered over into the
lime-lit space between the shadows and the moonlight.

" Ah, mon gros bebe, mon ganache, v'lan ! que vous etes bete ! "

The words were low, and the voice was sweet and rich. The
speaker was worthy of the voice, this blonde aux yeux noirs, as she
lay on the bank, leaning amongst a heap of Indian rugs, rare chdles
de Paislie and yielding cushions.

The Lady Regula Baddun's eyes were as long as her sight; they
were deep and full, and as lustrous as the hidden light that issues from
the darkest lantern, or as the light from the Boopis among the ancient
Heathen Divinities, and beamed, as the rays fell to the right or the
left of her, most dangerous to all, as none could tell in what direc-
tion her glances were being shot from those masked batteries, that
fired their deadly needle-darts, scattering lovers, like foes, in every
direction at once. Her skin was as dazzlingly white as the crystal
snow-sugar that crowns the summit of the gateau du soir douxieme;
and yet, supernatural as was this striking beauty, there was a reality
about the cheek with which Nature had most amply gifted her, which,
while it might have startled an ascetic, would have enthralled the
voluptuary, would have conquered the testhetic with its delicate
venus-aux-carottes bloom; while her hair, which was not exactly
auburn, nor yet strictly golden, was of that strange demi-et-demi-
monde mixture, a sort of sceau-heaux bizarre tint, that I have only
seen once in my life, and shall probably never see again, in fair
France, or in France, at a fair, long ago, when the price was dix
centimes pour entrevoir La Beaute merveilleuse aux cheveux d'un
cheval-pie. Her nose was long, and she had a trick with her, a
sort of playful movement, by which, in expressing disdain or
incredulity, she could seem to lengthen it at will, yet without for
one moment detracting from its just proportions. Her lips were
soft, full, and luscious,, as though she were always fresh from
feeding on moist oil cakes of vermilion colour, framing a mouth
that smiled superfluous destruction. It was a face that an Old
Master might have painted; it was a face that she herself, without
being an Old Master, could paint to perfection.

She was still toying with Sweetie in the boat as Strapmore
looked over the balustrade. In an instant, in a lightning's flash,
with her right eye fascinating Sweetie, she shot a beseeching,
captivating, ravishing glance from her left, that went with deadly
aim to its mark, to Strapmore's heart.

" He shall be mine!" she thought to herself, as, unseen by