Lady Evelyn — page 160: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Red Queen. 153 There were a‘l marner of stories afloat about the little black-eyed. beauty, who smoked rose-scented cigarettes, rode across country like a bird, shot like a rifleman, with revolver or carbine, danced like a Parisian premiere dan- seuseé, sang like a wood-lark, chattered French like a little grisette, and spoke English perfectly, with the most de- licious little accent in the world. She was a, charming actress, the most fascinating of stage coquettes, the most irresistible of feniumes de chambre and soubrettes, and ut- terly bewitching in silk tights and slashed doublet, as a court page with plumed hat on head, and slim rapier at her side. On the stave or off the stage the Red Queen was be- wildering. Every one knew her for the brightest, the merriest, the prettiest little dark fairy alive. Further. than that, all about her was of the most shadowy and de- lnsive. She had first made her appearance in a third- rate New York theater, in the role of soubrette, and that first appearance was a decided hit. The frequenters of the third-rate, Fast-side theatre, began to look eagerly for the little saucy brunette face and big black eyes, the pretty little dances, the sweet little songs. Then all at once Minnette was whisked away to a cer- tain stylish Broadway house, and made her debut as La Reine Rouge, in the most delightful of little three-act dramas written expressly for her, and which, as you know, ran nearly one hundred nights, and made Minnette famous. But who she was, or where she came from, or what her name might be, no one knew—no, not the manager, not her most intimate friend, not her most impassioned aderer. For, of course she had adorers, this dashing, pretty girl of seventeen, more than you would care to count, and she took their bouquets, and declined more costly gifts, and listened to their protestations with black, dancing eyes of fun, and made them a stage courtesy, and said: ‘No, thank you, monsieur!’” to one and all. She was really the eighth wonder of the world—so young, so handsome, so reckless and full of frolic, and yet so shrewdly sensible and so invulnerable to the arrows of the little blind god. _ One needed but look once into the piquant, saucy,