"Why, father!" she began, as the door of her dressing-room swung open and she appeared on the threshold, clad in a shimmering white dress, that intensified her fair style of beauty, "what brings you—" The smile on her face suddenly died away.
"You!" she cried, "how dare you! Go! Go at once! And if you dare come here again or attempt to molest me in any way, I'll prosecute you!"
Hamar, dumbfounded at such an exhibition of wrath, slunk out of the room without uttering a syllable.
"The vixen," he muttered as soon as he found himself in the street. "A thousand cats in one! Treated me like mud. Jerusalem! I'll pay her out. And I'll lose no time about it either. She'll look differently at me next time we meet."
He hurried back to Cockspur Street and going into the laboratory, threw himself into a chair and—thought.
That same evening at nine-thirty, in the interval between her first and second "going on," Gladys hastened to her dressing-room, and was preparing to partake of the light refreshments she had ordered, when—to her horror—she perceived crawling towards her, across the floor, a huge cockroach—a hideous black thing with spidery legs and long antennae that it waved, to and fro, in the air, as it advanced. It was at least double the size of any Gladys had hitherto seen, and her feelings can best be appreciated by those who fear such things—her blood ran cold, her flesh crawled, she sat glued to her chair, terrified to move, lest it should run after her. She screamed, and her dresser, startled out of her senses, came flying into the room.
"What is it, madam? What is it?" she cried.
Gladys pointed at the floor.
"Kill it!" she shrieked. "Stamp on it! Oh, quick, quick, it is coming towards me."
But the moment the dresser caught sight of the cockroach, she sprang on a chair and wound her skirts round her.