As time went on and evidences of prosperity showed themselves Lorelei’s family forgot some of their dislike of Bob and became more companionable.  Strangely enough, too, their cost of living increased in proportion to their friendliness; but Bob never questioned any amount they asked him for, and he swelled their allowance with characteristic prodigality.

Lorelei was proud of him, as she had reason to be, but she had occasion for sorrow as well.  His generosity was really big, his pagan joyousness banished shadows, but he was intensely human in his failings, and in spite of his determination to stop drinking, in spite of all his earnest promises, the old appetite periodically betrayed him.  For a month, for two months at a time, he would manfully fight his desires, then without excuse, without cause, just when he was boasting loudest of his victory, he would fall.  And yet drinking did not brutalize him as it does most men; he never became disgusting; liquor intoxicated him, but less in body than in spirit.  His repentance followed promptly, his chagrin was intense, and his fear of Lorelei almost ludicrous.  But the girl had acquired a wider charity, a gentler patience; she grieved, she tried to help him, and his frailty endeared him to her.  Love had been slow to awaken; in fact, she had not been definitely aware of its birth; but suddenly she had found it flowering in her soul, and now it flourished the more as that other interest intensified and began to dominate her.

Bob responded to all her efforts save one:  she could not make him serious.  On the whole, however, they were more happy than they had ever been.

One day, during the slack holiday season, Hannibal Wharton appeared at the Kurtz establishment.  He appraised the elaborate surroundings with a hostile eye and stared at his son impassively.

“So!  You’re a seamstress now,” he began, and Bob grinned.  “Merkle told me you repaid his loan and had an automobile.”

“That’s true.”

“Second-hand car?”

“No.”

“How much do you owe?”

“Nothing, except for stock.”

“Stock!  What do you mean?”

“Kurtz and I are partners in one end of this business.”

“I’ll be damned!” breathed Mr. Wharton.  Then he inquired, curiously, “Do you like this work?”

“It’s not what I prefer, still there is a margin of profit.”

“Huh!  I should think so, at ninety dollars a suit.  Well, this town is full of fools.”

Bob agreed.  “But we dress ’em better than they do in Pittsburg.”

After a moment’s consideration Hannibal said slowly:  “Mother’s at the Waldorf; she wants to see you.  You’ve just about broken her heart, Bob.”

“We’re not going out much, but perhaps we could call on her—­”

“‘We’!  I said she wants to see you.”

“And not my wife?”

“Certainly not.  Neither do I. You don’t seem to understand—­”