Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the city room.djvu/153

 leader and threw herself into the dance that had lifted her from the gutters of Seville and brought Europe and America to her feet.

Miss Herrick, who had seen her many times, decided that she had never danced so well before. A number of Spaniards sat in the front rows, whose excited cries in her own tongue roused Dolorita to efforts that electrified the house. Men stood up in their seats and shouted, while flowers rained upon the vivid figure that flashed about the stage, the personification of the fire and passion of Spain.

In the midst of it all, Miss Herrick glanced up at the box where the young mountaineer sat. His fair head had disappeared, but as she looked more closely, she saw that his face was buried in his arm, which rested on the ledge of the box. His companions had forgotten him and were shouting wildly with the others. Miss Herrick turned away wonderingly. As the audience dispersed after the performance she lingered a little, looking about for her protégé. He came down the long stairs with the blasé young men, his heroic figure towering above them. He had