“You’ll eat your hat, all right,” said Bill Ward, rising in his wrath.  “Nelly, my infant, I tell you Gila never fails.  If she gets on the job Court’ll be dead in love with her before the midwinter exams.!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Tennelly, rising.

“All right,” said Bill.  “Remember you’re in for a banquet during vacation.  Fricaseed hat the piece de resistance!”

CHAPTER III

It was a sumptuous library in which Gila Dare awaited the coming of Paul Courtland.

Great, deep, red-leather chairs stood everywhere invitingly, the floor was spread with a magnificent specimen of Royal Bokhara, the rich recesses of the noble walls were lined with books in rare editions, a heavily carved table of dull black wood from some foreign land sprawled in the center of the room and held a great bronze lamp of curious pattern, bearing a ruby light.  Ornate bronzes lurked on pedestals in shadows, unexpectedly, and caught the eye alarmingly, like grim ones set to watch.  A throbbing fire like the heart of a lit ruby burned in a massive fireplace of grotesque tiles, as though it were the opening into great depths of unquenchable fire to which this room might be but an approach.

Gila herself, slight, dark-eyed, with pearl-white skin and dusky hair, was dressed in crimson velvet, soft and clinging like chiffon, catching the light and shimmering it with strange effect.  The dark hair was curiously arranged, and stabbed just above her ears with two dagger-like combs flashing with jewels.  A single jewel burned at her throat on an invisible chain, and jewels flashed from the little pointed crimson-satin slippers, setting off the slim ankles in their crimson-silk covering.  The whole effect was startling.  One wondered why she had chosen so elaborate a costume to waste upon a single college student.

She stood with one dainty foot poised on the brass trappings of the hearth.  In her short skirts she seemed almost a child; so sweet the droop of the pretty lips; so innocent the dark eyes as they looked into the fire; so soft the shadows that played in the dark hair!  And yet, as she turned to listen for a step in the hall, there was something gleaming, sinister, in those dark eyes, something mocking in the red lips.  She might have been a daughter of Satan as she stood, the firelight picking out those jeweled horns and slippers.

“Leave him to me,” she had said to her cousin when he told her how the brilliant young athlete and intellectual star of the university had been stung by the religious bug.  “Send him to me.  I’ll take it out of him and he’ll never know it’s gone.”

Paul Courtland entered, unsuspecting.  He had met Gila a number of times before, at college dances and the games.  He was not exactly flattered, but decidedly pleased that she had sent for him.  Her brightness and seeming innocence had attracted him strongly.