The day following there were several dozens of cards left for her
at our hotel; invitations arrived by the score. She accepted two
or three and made the fortune of two drawing-rooms; then suddenly
tired of the sport and insulted a most estimable lady, our
hostess, by certain remarks which inadvertently reached the ears
of the lady's husband.
"You have done for yourself, Le Mire," I told her.
She answered me with a smile--straightway proceeded to issue
invitations for an "entertainment" at our hotel. I had no idea
what she meant to do; but gave the thing no thought, feeling
certain that few, or none, of the invitations would be accepted
--wherein I was badly mistaken, for not one was refused.
Well, Le Mire danced for them.
For myself it was barely interesting; I have passed the inner
portals of the sacred temples of India, and the human body holds
no surprises for me. But the good people of San Francisco were
shocked, astonished, and entranced. Not a man in the room but was
Le Mire's slave; even the women were forced to applaud. She
became at once a goddess and an outcast.
The newspapers of the following morning were full of it, running
the scale of eulogy, admiration, and wonder.
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