In due time she came, and Melcher saw her established at a modest hotel before making known in detail his intentions.

Lilas was little more than a wreck of what she had been.  It seemed impossible that eight short months could have worked so great a change in one of her youth and strength.  Ill she undoubtedly was.  She was thin, her nerves had yielded to the ravages of the drug, and a queer, unhealthy pallor had blanched her skin; her eyes were big and feverish and restless.  Only at such times as she was without cocaine did her mind suffer; when she had it she was unnaturally alert.  Having lately felt the harsh grip of poverty, she was obsessed now by the need of money, and offered no objections to Max’s schemes.  Rather, she welcomed them fiercely.  She and Max and Jim mapped out a course of action together; but a day or two later, when Jim thought the moment propitious, he secured her ear alone and gave voice to his resentment against Max.

As soon as Lilas understood his drift she met him more than half-way.  She was vulture-like in her greed, and with a full understanding between them the two conspired to use Max only so long and so far as suited their purposes.

In spite of Bob Wharton’s peculiarly mutable temperament he was not remiss in his duties toward Lorelei during the period that led up to the birth of their child.  Utterly careless and improvident in his own affairs, he was naturally considerate of others and possessed a surprising depth of sympathy.  Hence he met the responsibilities of his present situation with considerable credit.

One evening he was concerned to find his wife greatly agitated, and upon learning the cause his consternation matched hers.  Lorelei’s eyes were big and frightened as she explained:  “Lilas is back.  She was here to-day.”

“Lilas?  Good Lord!  What did she want?”

“Nothing.  She just came to see me.  She’s changed dreadfully, and talked about nothing except—­that awful night.  You remember?  I’m nearly in hysterics.”

“Now, that won’t do.  You pass your worries on to me.  Lilas can’t make trouble for us without making more for herself.”

But Lorelei seemed oppressed with a premonition of trouble.  “I’m frightened, Bob,” she confessed.  “She acted so—­strangely.  Suppose—­oh, suppose I should have to go to jail now or—­to court—­”

Bob took his wife in his arms and did his best to cure her of these sick fancies; but it was no easy task to quiet her, for a million apprehensions had sprung into life with the reopening of that old horror.  At last he reminded her gently: 

“Remember, dear, your thoughts are like branding-irons just now; they leave their marks.  We want our child to be brave and confident and steadfast, not a coward—­or something worse.  This is how cowards are made.  How can a child inherit weakness when its mother is without fear?”

Profiting by this experience, Bob undertook to guard against another visit from Lilas.  He was really worried, although he pretended to dismiss the matter as inconsequential, and his fears flared into full blaze again a few days later, when Jimmy Knight called upon him and announced cautiously: