The Equinox (Volume I, Number V)

THE ORDEAL OF IDA PENDRAGON she said, "oh! Iknow the type. Name of a tigress . . . and she rattled off a story of a stag—hunt at Fontainebleau in which the Cornish girl had played the principal, an incredible part. The cafe pricked up its ears, and dissolved in laughter at the culminating impossibility. But Edgar Rolles only frowned. “ I am sorry for Ida," he said slowly. " If your story were true I should be glad; but she is only the painter with his palette mixing paints: she never gives her soul up to the canvas. Tigress ? yes : but not the Bodhi—sattva who let the tigress eat him. She always wins ; she cannot lose. As the proverb says : ’ Lucky at play, unlucky in love—and ‘ God is love.’ " " Listen ! he is saying the Black Mass again," cried Ninon, and springing on a table began the Dance of the Postman’s Knock, just then the rage of Montparnasse before the infection spread to Paris and London. A Polish youth jumped on to the table opposite and joined her; in a minute the whole cafe was aflame with it. But Edgar Rolles, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and the threat of tears in his eyes, was walking back to his studio. " If only life were folly! " he sighed. “But the silliest things we do are wisdom—somehow, somewhere—" And he let himself in. * * * * at The lunch in the private room at Lavenue’s was secretly amusing. Joe Marie had only dog’s eyes for Ida; Ninon amused herself by trying to distract him. Edgar held forth at length upon Art, passionlessly expository. Ι37