For the moment Campbell Pope made no reply.  Meanwhile a great wave of singing flooded the regions at the back of the theater as the curtain rose and the chorus broke into sudden sound.  When he did speak it was with unusual bitterness.

“It’s the rottenest business in the world, Slosson.  Two years ago she was a country girl; now she’s a Broadway belle.  How long will she last, d’you think?”

“She’s too beautiful to last long,” agreed the press-agent, soberly, “especially now that the wolves are on her trail.  But her danger isn’t so much from the people she meets with as the people she eats with.  That family of hers would drive any girl to the limit.  They intend to cash in on her; the mother says so.”

“And they will, too.  She can have her choice of the wealthy rounders.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Slosson hastened to qualify.  “She’s square; understand?”

“Of course; ‘object, matrimony.’  It’s the old story, and her mother will see to the ring and the orange blossoms.  But what’s the difference, after all, Slosson?  It ’ll be hell for her, and a sale to the highest bidder, either way.”

“Queer little gink,” the press-agent reflected, as he returned to the front of the house.  “I wish he wore stiff collars; I’d like to take him home for dinner.”

As Pope passed out through the stage door the Judge called hoarsely after him: 

“You’ll keep your eye skinned for a job for Lottie, won’t you?  Remember, the swellest legs in burlesque.”

CHAPTER III

In his summary of Lorelei’s present life Slosson had not been far wrong.  Many changes had come to the Knights during the past two years—­changes of habit, of thought, and of outlook; the entire family had found it necessary to alter their system of living.  But it was in the girl that the changes showed most.  When Mrs. Knight had forecast an immediate success for her daughter she had spoken with the wisdom of a Cassandra.  Bergman had taken one look at Lorelei upon their first meeting, then his glance had quickened.  She had proved to have at least an average singing-voice; her figure needed no comment.  Her inexperience had been the strongest argument in her favor, since Bergman’s shows were famous for their new faces.  The result was that he signed her promptly, and mother and daughter had walked out of his office quite unconscious of having accomplished the unusual.  At first the city had seemed strange and bewildering, and Lorelei had suffered pangs at the memory of Vale, for at her age the roots of association strike deep; but in a short time the novelty of her new life proved an anodyne and deadened acute regrets, while the vague hazard of it all kept her at an agreeable pitch of excitement.