"I want no notoriety, so all we need talk about is terms. You'll fare better by dealing directly with me than through lawyers--I'll fight a lawsuit--so let's get down to business. You should realize, however, that these settlements are never as large as they're advertised. I'll pay you ten thousand dollars and stand the costs of the divorce proceedings."

"You are making a mistake," she told him, quietly.

"I expected you to refuse, but ten thousand dollars is better than nothing. Talk it over with your people. Now, Bob, come with me."

"Where?" demanded his son.

"Anywhere. You can't stay here."

"You're infallible in business, dad," Bob protested, "but where sentiment is concerned you're a terrible failure."

"Not at all! Not at all!" Mr. Wharton exclaimed, irritably. "I know real sentiment when I see it, and I'll foot the bill for this counterfeit, but I'm too tired to argue."

Lorelei was standing very white and still; now she said, "Don't you think you'd better go?"

The elder man laid aside his hat and gloves, then spoke with snarling deliberation. "I'll go when I choose. No high and mighty airs with me, if you please." After a curious scrutiny of them both he asked his son: "You don't really imagine that she married you for anything except your money, do you?"

"I flattered myself--" Bob began, stiffly.

"Bah! You're drunk."

"Moderately, perhaps--or let us say that I am in an unnaturally argumentative mood. I take issue with you. You see, dad, I've been crazy about Lorelei ever since I first saw her, and--"

"To be sure, that's quite natural. But why in h.e.l.l did you MARRY her? That wasn't necessary, was it?"

Lorelei uttered a sharp cry. Bob rose; his eyes were bright and hard. Mr. Wharton merely arched his s.h.a.ggy brows, inquiring quickly of the bride: "What's the matter? I state the case correctly, do I not?"

"No!" gasped Lorelei.

"Let's talk plainly--"

"That's a bit too plain, even from you, dad," Bob cried, angrily.

"It's time for plain speaking. You got drunk, and she trapped you.

I'm here to get you out of the trap. It's a matter of money, isn't it? Well, then, don't let's allow sentiment to creep in."

Addressing himself to Lorelei, he said: "You probably counted on five times the sum I offer, but ten thousand dollars will buy a lot of clothes, and the publicity won't hurt you professionally; it'll do you good. You might even spend the winter in Europe and catch another victim. I believe that's the amount Merkle offered you, isn't it?"

"Merkle? What are you talking about?" Bob demanded.

"Did Mr. Merkle tell you how and why he came to make that offer?"

asked Lorelei, indignantly.

"No. But he offered it, did he not?"

"Yes, and I refused it. Ask him why?"

"We don't seem to be getting along very well," Bob interposed.

"Lorelie is my wife and your daughter-in-law. What's more, I love her; so I guess that ends the Reno chatter." He crossed to Lorelei's side and encircled her with his arm. "There's no price- tag on this marriage, dad, and you'll regret what you've said."

Wharton senior shrugged wearily. "You tell him, Miss; maybe he'll believe you."

"Tell him what?" asked Lorelei.

"The truth, of course." He paused for a reply, and, receiving none, broke out wrathfully: "Then I will. She's a grafter, Bob, and her whole family are grafters. Now, let me finish. She makes her living in any way she can; she smirks at you out of every catch-penny advertis.e.m.e.nt along Broadway. She's 'The Chewing-Gum Girl' and 'The Petticoat Girl' and 'The Bath-Tub Girl'--"

"There's nothing dishonest in that."

"Just a minute. I won't have my daughter's face grinning at me every time I get into a street-car. I'd be the laughing-stock of the country. It's legitimate, perhaps, but it's altogether too d.a.m.ned colorful for me."

"Is that all you have against her?"

"Not by any means. She's notorious--"

"Newspaper talk!"

"Is it? She's made her living by bleeding men, by taking gifts and renting herself out the way she did at Hammon's supper. Men don't support show-girls from chivalrous motives. I had her family looked up, and it didn't take two hours. Listen to this report."

He extracted a typewritten sheet from his bill-case, adjusted his gla.s.ses, and began to read:

"Peter Knight: former residence Vale, New York. Held several minor offices; sheriff for one term; involved in scandal over public works and defeated for re-election. Reputation bad. Detailed record can be had if necessary. Moved to this city 1911; clerk in Department of Water Supply, Gas, and Electricity until injured by taxi-cab while intoxicated. Believed to be crippled.

"James Knight, son. Reputation bad. Generally known as a loafer, suspected of boosting for so-called 'wire-tappers' operating on upper West Side last spring. Believed to have some connection with more than one blackmailing scheme--details available. He figured in recent scandal concerning well-known financier and actress. Of late employed as steerer for Max Melcher's gambling-house, West Forty-sixth Street. Broker living at Charlevoix Apartments reported to have lost large sums through his efforts. No police record as yet.

"Mathilda Knight, wife of Peter--

"D'you want the rest?" Mr. Wharton inquired.

"No!" Lorelei gulped.

"'No police record as YET'--'Broker living at the Charlevoix Apartments'--'Injured by a taxi-cab while intoxicated,'" quoted Wharton. "Scandal, blackmail, graft. It's all here, Bob. And I hadn't come to this girl's record. The report was made by one of our own men, and it's incomplete, but I can have it elaborated.

What do you say, MRS. WHARTON? Is it true?"

Lorelei dropped her head. "Most of it, I dare say."

"Did you try to blackmail Merkle?"

"No."

"Your mother and your brother did."

She was silent.

"They tried to scare him into marrying you, did they not?"

"Hammon said something about that," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bob, "but I don't believe--"

Lorelei checked him. "It's quite true."

"Merkle said you had nothing to do with it personally,"

conscientiously explained Mr. Wharton, "and I'm willing to take his word. But that's neither here nor there." There was a moment of silence during which he folded and replaced the report; then he shook his head, exclaiming, "Second-hand goods, my boy!"