Meantime Mrs. Ward was chatting amicably to Vane and to a vapid War-Office clerk, who had formed a fourth at the Cecil dinner-party. He was a titled clerk, and heir to great estates, so Mrs. Ward made much of him. She was very diplomatic, and never neglected younger sons. "One never knows but what they may be rich some day," said Mrs. Ward in explanation of her wisdom.
The box was large and easily held the party. Mrs. Ward had a position directly in front, where she could see and be seen; but Dorothy kept herself behind the curtains. She could see the stage excellently, but did not wish to be recognized by any chance acquaintance. In an opposite box sat a red-haired man in immaculate evening-dress. Derrington recognized him as Bawdsey, but did not think it necessary to show his recognition. He sat at the back of the box between Vane and the War-Office clerk, and kept a watchful eye on Mrs. Ward.
That little woman sparkled like a diamond. She criticised the house, admired the decorations, and applauded the comic songs. It might have been that this indifferent attitude was one of defiance, as she must have known that Derrington was watching her. But she acted her part consummately, and he could not help admiring her coolness. "What an admirable actress," thought the old lord, "and what a dangerous woman!"
The ballet of "The Bacchanals" came at the end of the first part of the programme. When the curtain rose Dorothy was so anxious to behold Lola that she leaned forward so as to show her face to the whole house. Bawdsey saw her and put his glass to his eyes. He smiled slightly, and Derrington wondered why he did so. But at that moment, and while the stage was filling with dancers, he arose to receive some newcomers. These were none other than Miss Bull and Margery, for whom Bawdsey had procured the box. The little old maid was whiter than ever and wore her usual gray dress. Margery was smartly gowned in green, and with her light hair and stupid red face looked anything but beautiful. She placed herself in the best position, being evidently directed to do so by Miss Bull, for that lady preferred the shade. At all events, she secluded herself behind a curtain and kept her beady black eyes persistently on the stage. On seeing that the two were comfortable, Bawdsey disappeared, and did not return till the end of the ballet. Derrington saw all this, but no one else in Mrs. Ward's box took any notice. And why should they? Bawdsey and his party were quite unknown to them.
The ballet was modeled closely on the lines laid down by Euripides in his tragedy. The opening scene was the market-place of Thebes, and the stage was filled mostly with men. Pentheus, the King, is informed that the whole female population of the city, together with his mother, Agave, have gone to the mountains to worship a stranger. The seer, Tiresias, knows by his psychic powers that the stranger is none other than Bacchus, the god of wine, and implores Pentheus not to provoke his enmity. The King spurns this advice and gives orders that the so-called god shall be arrested. It was at this moment that Agavé appears. Dorothy looked at her eagerly.
Agavé has not yet assumed her Bacchanalian garb. She is still in the quiet dress of a Grecian matron, but her gestures are wild, and she is rapid in her movements. In the dance which followed she is interrupted by Pentheus, who strives to calm her frenzy. But Agavé, knowing the god of wine is at hand, becomes as one possessed. Bacchus appears and is arrested by Pentheus. He is chained and hurried into the palace. Agavé warns the King against the impiety he is committing. Pentheus defies the gods. There is a peal of thunder, and the palace of Pentheus sinks into ruins. At the back appears the ruins of the city walls, which have also fallen, and on the summit of the heaped stones stands Bacchus, the god confest. At a wave of his wand vines begin to clamber over the ruins, and the cries of the Bacchanalians are heard. Pentheus tries to seize the god again, and darkness covers the stage. The last thing seen was Lola dancing in a wild red light, with extravagant gestures.
Dorothy could not say that Lola was handsome, but she had about her a wild grace which was very fascinating. When dancing she seemed to think of nothing but the revels in which she was engaged. She never cast a look at the house, and Dorothy noticed this. She was therefore somewhat surprised when, during the second scene, she saw Lola deliberately look in the direction of the box and stare at her piercingly for quite a moment or two. Rather confused by this sudden regard, the girl drew back. Lola noticed her no more, but continued to dance.
The second scene was the camp of the Bacchanals, where Pentheus, as a follower of the god, comes to see the orgies. It was a mountainous scene with a lurid red sky broken by masses of black clouds. There is no need to describe the ballet in detail. The frenzied dancers of the Bacchanals seemed to send the audience wild. There was something fierce and murderous about these orgiastic movements. And through the wild throng darted Lola, in leopard-skin and garlands, bearing a cup of wine, and flinging herself about in wild madness. She appeared to be a devil, and Dorothy shrank back at the sight of her wild face. The music also was terrible, and excited the dancers to further efforts of madness. It was a feast of witches, a Walpurgis night, a revel of the earth-powers. There was nothing spiritual about this riot of the flesh; the audience shuddered at the fierce rapture of the dancers, at the alluring pain of the music, at the reckless abandon of Lola Velez.
"It's too awful!" murmured Dorothy, moving to the back of the box, beside Derrington; "that woman is a demon."
"Yet your friend Mr. Brendon helped her to this, position," said the old man, grimly.