Mrs. Knight relieved her steadily increasing anger by a harsh outburst.

“I never thought you could be so silly, after the way you were raised.  You talk about obligations; what about your obligation to your parents?  Didn’t we give up everything for you?  Didn’t Peter sacrifice his life’s work to give you an opportunity?”

“I’ll keep on sharing my salary with you.”

“Salary!” Mrs. Knight spat out the word.  “After all our plans!  Salary!  My God!”

“You’re probably just as honest in your ideas as I am in mine,” Lorelei told her.  “I sha’n’t allow you to want for—­”

“I should hope not, since you’re to blame for Peter’s condition—­ Oh, you know you are!  If you hadn’t wanted a career he’d still be in Vale, a strong, healthy man instead of a cripple.”

“I didn’t want a career,” Lorelei denied with heat.  “And father almost had to leave Vale.”

“Nothing of the sort.  He was a big man there.  ‘Had to leave Vale,’ eh?  So you’ve turned against your own blood, and disparage your father—­Anyhow, he was hurt while he was working to give you a start, and now he’s helpless.  Who waits on him?  I do.  If I believed in prayers I’d pray that you may never have a child to disappoint you as you’ve disappointed him and me.”  Her voice quavered as she tried for pathos, but her fury was still too fresh to be entirely restrained, and it scalded her like vitriol.  “If Bob Wharton was half a man he’d step aside; but of course he won’t until he’s had enough of your beauty.  That’s all he wants, your beauty—­and you’ll be fool enough to let him have it for nothing.  I’m sure I wish you joy with the selfish wretch and with your new-fangled ideas of wifely devotion.  This will kill Peter.  You’ll have his death on your conscience.  Think that over, now that you’re so fond of thinking.  Ten thousand dollars right now would save his life.  Think that over, too, when your own father is dead and gone.”

White with anger, sick with disappointment, Mrs. Knight whisked herself out of the apartment.

Bob returned in excellent spirits—­nothing had power permanently to dampen his cheerfulness—­and, seizing Lorelei’s hand, he slipped a diamond ring upon her third finger, then a plain gold band over that.

“Now we’re legally wrapped up in the same package and labeled ‘Wed,’” he declared.  “I’ve been terribly embarrassed.”

“How did you manage to buy these?” Lorelei inquired, with some curiosity.

“I earned the money.  Fact!  It was a premium on abstinence.  I met a friend; he invited me to drink; I refused; friend was stunned.  Before he recovered I ran through his pockets like a pet squirrel.  It beats a mask and a lead pipe.”

“We can’t begin this way,” she laughed.  “I love pretty things, and this is your first gift”—­she kissed the solitaire—­“but please don’t give me anything more for a while.  I’m not going to lecture you nor wear a long face nor find fault—­ever—­we’re going to wear smiles while our experiment lasts.  To-morrow is Sunday—­will you take me somewhere?”