“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 hell 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 shaggy 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.”