The little hall
rocked with enthusiasm, and, cloaked in a voluminous garment,
"Aphrodite" had to bow her acknowledgments again and again. When the
time came for Hercule's own postures, they fell, by comparison, quite
flat.
"Ciel!" she babbled, on the homeward walk; "who would have supposed
that I should go so strong? If I knock them like this next week too, I
shall make Blond spring a bit more!" She looked towards her lover for
congratulations; so far he had been rather unsatisfactory.
"Oh, well," he mumbled, "it was a very good audience, you know, I never
saw a more generous house--you can't expect to catch on like it
anywhere else."
His tone puzzled her. Though she was quite alive to the weaknesses of
her profession, she could not believe that her triumph could give
umbrage to her fiance. Hercule, her adorer, to be annoyed because she
had received more "hands" than _he_ had? Oh, it was mean of her to
fancy such a thing!
But she was conscious that he had never wished her "pleasant dreams" so
briefly as he did that night, and the Strong Man, on his side, was
conscious of a strange depression. He could not shake it off. The next
evening, too, he felt it. Wherever he went, he heard praises of her
proportions. The dancing girl had, in fact, proved to be beautifully
formed, and it could not be disputed that "Aphrodite" had wiped
"Hercules" out. Her success was repeated in every town.
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