James winked meaningly.  “Leave that to me.  She’s going to Proctor’s with me to-night.  Maybe he’ll join us.  But meanwhile we’ve got Merkle for some quick money if we work him right.  I’m off for Goldy’s office now.  I’ll meet you at three.”

When Jim reappeared, dressed for the street, he gave a bit of parting advice: 

“Better lay on the hysterics when she wakes up.  It’ll make it easier for me to-night.”

Lorelei found her mother visibly upset by the story in the morning’s newspaper.

“You told me you only went to supper with that man,” Mrs. Knight cried, tragically.  “Instead of that you two were off in the country together all night.  Here’s the whole thing.”  She brandished the paper dramatically.

“Well, I told you a fib.  But there’s no harm done.”

“Harm, indeed?  You’re ruined.  I never read anything more disgraceful; I daren’t show it to Peter—­it would kill him.  What ever possessed you, after the way we’ve watched over you, after the care we’ve taken of you?  It’s terrible.”

“Please don’t carry on so.  It was too bad, of course, but—­I’ll live through it.”

The shock of this callous assertion seemed to rob Mrs. Knight of speech; she stared at her daughter in grief and amazement.

“Mr. Merkle is a gentleman,” Lorelei defended.  “He’ll regret this publicity as much as I.”

“The wretch!  I’ll teach him to spoil an innocent girl’s career and drag her name in the mud.”  Mrs. Knight glared balefully.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said her daughter, sharply.

“He—­ought to marry you.”

“Why, mother!  You’re more insulting than that newspaper.  The career of a show-girl is something of a joke.”  Lorelei undertook to laugh, but the attempt failed rather dismally.

“Indeed.  What will the other men say?  You had a character; nobody could say a word against you until now.  Do you think any decent man would marry a girl who did a thing like this?  Of course, I know you’re a good girl, but they don’t, and they’ll believe absolutely the worst.  You’ve spoiled everything, my dear; I’m completely discouraged.”  Mrs. Knight began to weep in a weak, heart-broken manner, expecting Lorelei to melt, as usual; but, seeing something in her daughter’s expression that warned her not to carry her reproaches too far, she broke out:  “You’re so hard, so unreasonable.  Don’t you see I’m frantic with worry?  You’re all we have, and—­and the thought of an injury to your prospects nearly kills me.  You misunderstand everything I say.  I—­wish you were safely married and out of danger.  I think I could die happy then.  It means so much to all of us to have you settled right away.  Peter is failing every day; Jim is going to the dogs, and—­ I’m sick over it all.”

“I wish I were married and out of the way.  You would all be fixed, at least.  I—­don’t much care about myself.”  Lorelei sighed in hopeless weariness of spirit, for variations of this scene had been common of late, and they always filled her with the blackest pessimism.