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!”

“That’s a lie!” Lorelei’s voice was like a whip.

Mr. Wharton eyed her grimly.  “That’s something for Bob to determine—­I have only the indications to go on.  I don’t blame him for losing his wits—­you’re very good-looking—­but the affair must end.  You’re not a girl I’d care to have in my family—­pardon my bluntness.”

She met his eyes fairly.  At no time had she flinched before him, although inwardly she had cringed and her flesh had quivered at his merciless attack.

“You have told Bob the truth,” she began, slowly, “in the worst possible way; you have put me in the most unfavorable light.  I dare say I never would have had the courage to tell him myself, although he deserves to know.  I’ve been pretty—­commercial—­ because I had to be, but I never sold myself, and I sha’n’t begin now.  Bob isn’t a child; he’s nearly thirty years old—­old enough to make up his own mind—­and he must make this decision, not I.”

Bob opened his lips, but his father forestalled him.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I have no price.  If he’s sick of the match we’ll end it, and it won’t cost you a cent.”

Bob looked inscrutable; his father smiled for the first time during the interview.

“That’s very decent of you,” he said, “but of course I sha’n’t put the good faith of your offer to the test.  I don’t want something for nothing.  I’ll take care of you nicely.”

Thus far Bob had yielded precedence to his father, but he could no longer restrain himself.  “Now let me take the chair,” he commanded, easily.  “My mind is made up.  You see, I didn’t marry ‘Peter Knight, residence Vale,’ nor ’James Knight, reputation bad,’ nor even ‘Mathilda Knight, wife of Peter.’  I married this kid, and the books are closed.  You say the Knights are a bad lot, and Lorelei’s reputation is a trifle discolored:  maybe you’re right, but mine has some inky blots on it, too, and I guess the cleanest part of it would just about match the darkest that hers can show.  I seem to have all the best of the deal.”

“Don’t be an ass,” growled his father.

“I’ve always been one—­I may as well be consistent” Bob felt the slender form at his side begin to tremble, and smiled down into the troubled blue eyes upturned to his.  “Maybe we’ll both have to do some forgiving and forgetting.  I believe that’s usual nowadays.”

“Oh, I’m not whitewashing you,” Hannibal snapped.  “She probably knows what you are.”

“I do,” agreed Lorelei.  “He’s a—­drunkard, and everything that means.  But you taught him to drink before he could choose for himself.”