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Dale was going downhill headlong to Gadarene catastrophe. He had no
eyes or ears or thoughts for any one in the world but for a certain Lola
Brandt, a brazen creature from a circus, the shape of whose limbs was
the common knowledge of mankind from Dublin to Yokohama, and whose path
by sea and land, from Yokohama to Dublin, was strewn with the bodies of
her victims. With this man-eating tigress, declared Lady Kynnersley,
was Dale infatuated. He scorched himself morning, noon, and night in her
devastating presence. Had cut himself adrift from home, from society.
Had left trailing about on his study table a jeweller's bill for a
diamond bracelet. Was committing follies that made my brain reel to
hear. Had threatened, if worried much longer, to marry the Scarlet One
incontinently. Heaven knew, cried Lady Kynnersley, how many husbands
she had already--scattered along the track between Dublin and Yokohama.
There was no doubt about it. Dale was hurtling down to everlasting
bonfire. She looked to me to hold out the restraining hand.


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