“Will I?” Bob cried, in delight.  “I’ll hire a car and we’ll motor up to Tuxedo.  There’s a dandy crowd out there.  We’ll take Adoree and the Immaculate Critic, and we’ll have dinner at the club.  Campbell can show the latest effects in negligees, and—­”

“That’s too expensive; let’s all go to Coney Island.”

“Coney?  How do you get there?”

“I don’t know.  Will you go?”

“Certainly, if you want to!  I dare say we’ll meet some of the best steamfitters in the city.  We’ll patronize everything from the Mystic Maze to the Trained Fleas; we’ll Bump the Bumps and you’ll throw your arms around me and scream, and we’ll look at the Incubator Babies and blush.  I can’t wait.”

Strangely enough, the news of Bob Wharton’s marriage had not leaked into the papers up to this time, and Lorelei, having regard for the feelings of his parents, insisted that he help her to keep the matter secret as long as possible.  Bob rebelled at first, for he adored publicity.  He rejoiced in his newest exploit and desired his world to hear of it, while the prospect of further mortifying his father was so agreeable that it required much persuasion to make him relinquish it.  With her own family Lorelei had less difficulty, for they were by no means eager to advertise their bad bargain and had withdrawn behind a stiff restraint, leaving the couple to their own devices.  This attitude spared the bride much unpleasant notoriety, enabling her to pursue her work at the theater without comment.

Bob’s society proved in some ways a welcome change from the sordid drabness of her own relatives, for he was colorful, versatile, and nearly always good-humored.  He kept Lorelei entertained, at least, and if at times he provoked her it was only as a mischievous boy tries the patience of a parent.  He was weirdly prankish; serious happenings reacted strangely upon him.  Misfortune aroused in him a wild hilarity; cares excited mirth.  He bore his responsibilities lightly and displayed them to his friends with the same profound pride with which a small boy exhibits a collection of beetles, but they meant nothing more.

Lorelei realized before long that this very jocundity of his, since it fed upon constant change and excitement, constituted the gravest menace to their happiness.  The man lived entirely outside of himself; he utterly lacked the power of self-amusement, and, although he seemed content when she was near, during the long hours of her absence he was like a fretful child.  He refused to frequent the theater, ostensibly because of their secret, in reality because of his shame at allowing her to work.  As Lorelei came to know him better and to understand the conflicting forces within him, she began to wonder how long he could hold himself true to his bargain.

During the first week of their married life his system struggled to throw off the effects of his recent dissipations, and in consequence it craved only rest.  Greatly encouraged by this lack of desire, he boasted that the battle was already won, and Lorelei pretended to agree with him.