“What is it?” Merkle inquired, leaning toward Lorelei.

“The new saddle-bag purse.  See?  It’s very Frenchy.  Gold fittings—­ and a coin-purse and card-case inside.  See the monogram?  I’m going to keep this.”

“Don’t you keep all your gifts?”

“Not the expensive ones.  Lilas picked these out for Mr. Hammon, and they’re exquisite.  We share the same dressing-room, you know.”

Merkle regarded her with a sudden new interest.

“You and she dress together?”

“Yes.”

“Then—­I dare say you’re close friends?”

“We’re close enough—­in that room; but scarcely friends.  What did you get?”

He unrolled the package at his plate.

“A gold safety razor—­evidently a warning not to play with edged tools.  I wonder if Miss Lynn bought one for Jarvis?”

“Now, why did you say that,” Lorelei asked, quickly, “and why did you ask in that peculiar tone if she and I were friends?”

The man leaned closer, saying in a voice that did not carry above the clamor: 

“I suppose you know she’s making a fool of him?  I suppose you realize what it means when a woman of her stamp gets a man with money in her power?  You must know all there is to know from the outside; it occurred to me that you might also know something about the inside of the affair.  Do you?”

“I’m afraid not.  All I’ve heard is the common gossip.”

“There’s a good deal here that doesn’t show on the surface.  That woman is a menace to a great many people, of whom I happen to be one.”

“You speak as if she were a dangerous character, and as if she had deliberately entangled him,” Lorelei said, defendingly.  “As a matter of fact, she did nothing of the sort; she avoided him as long as she could, but he forced his attentions upon her.  He’s a man who refuses defeat.  He persisted, he persecuted her until she was forced to—­accept him.  Men of his wealth can do anything, you know.  Sometimes I think—­but it’s none of my business.”

“What do you sometimes think?”

“That she hates him.”

“Nonsense.”

“I know she did at first; I don’t wonder that she makes him pay now.  It’s according to her code and the code of this business.”

“I can’t believe she—­dislikes him.”

“He may have won her finally, but at first she refused his gifts, refused even to meet him.”

“She had scruples?”

“No more than the rest of us, I presume.  She gave her two weeks’ notice because he annoyed her; but before the time was up Bergman took a hand.  He sent for her one evening, and when she went down there was Mr. Hammon, too.  When she came up-stairs she was hysterical.  She cried and laughed and cursed—­it was terrible.”

“Curious,” murmured the man, staring at the object of their controversy.  “What did she say?”

“Oh, nothing connected.  She called him every kind of a monster, accused him of every crime from murder to—­”