“So sorry,” said Mrs. Fennell; then, with a knowing laugh:  “There’s no likelihood of Bob’s annoying you for some time.  Bertie will see to that.”

CHAPTER XXIII

Once in her room, Lorelei gave way to the indignation that had been slowly growing in her breast.  How dared Bob introduce her to such people!  If this was the world in which he had moved before his marriage he had shown his wife an insult by bringing her into it.  Surely people like the Fennells, Bert Hayman, Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire, the Madden woman, were not typical members of New York’s exclusive circles!  Applied to them, ‘smart’ was a laughably inadequate term; they were worse than fast; they were frankly vicious.  This was more than a gay week-end party; it was an orgy.  Lorelei’s anger at her betrayal was so keen that she dared not send for Bob immediately for fear of speaking too violently, but she assured herself that she would leave in the morning, even though he chose to remain.

Still in a blazing temper, she disrobed and sat down to calm herself and to wait for her husband.  A half-hour passed, then another; at last she sent a maid in quest of him, but the report she received was not reassuring; Bob was scarcely in a condition to come to his room.  Lorelei’s lips were white as she dismissed the servant.

By and by the music ceased.  She heard people passing in the hall, and distinguished Betty Fennell’s voice bidding good night to some one.  Still she waited.

Heavy with resentment, sick from disillusionment, she finally crept into bed, leaving one electric candle burning upon her dressing-table.  Although she knew she could not sleep, she determined to postpone a scene with Bob by feigning slumber.

When the door opened with a cautious hand she closed her eyes and lay still.  She heard Bob turn the key and tiptoe toward her, but even when he stood over her and she caught the odor of his garments she did not lift her lids.  A moment passed, then some sixth sense gave her warning, and her eyes flew open.

Hayman was standing at the bedside, peering down at her.  He extended a cautious hand, saying:  “Don’t make a fuss.  Everything is all—­”

Lorelei spoke sharply, but with a restraint that surprised her.  “What are you doing here?”

“What am I—?  Why, nothing especial.  Had to tell you good night, you know.”  He laughed guardedly, nervously.  She saw that he was considerably drunker than when she had escaped from his attentions, but evidently he knew quite well what he was about.

“Kindly get out, and close the door after you,” she directed, still without raising her voice.

“The door’s closed—­and locked,” he snickered.  Lorelei sat up with eyes blazing.  “Oh, don’t worry about Bob,” muttered Hayman, reassuringly.  “Bob’s good for two hours yet—­I’ve seen to that—­ and he couldn’t find his way up-stairs, anyhow.  Say!  I want to talk to you.  You’ve got me going, Lorelei.”