“Oh, she’ll take care of herself,” said Jim, carelessly; “she’s as strong as a pony.”

“If you’ll take the chance I’ll stake a shillaber to do it.  I’ve got half a dozen high-class fellows working the hotels, and Lilas knows some of them.”

Jim shrugged disgustedly.  “I suppose I’ll have to repent and be a good boy,” he snorted, “and let Lorelei weep on my shoulder.  Gee!  She makes me sick.”

“I’ll take care of my part, and—­maybe we can put it through.  This is out of my line, but they do it abroad, so why not here?  The girl’s no more than human.”  Mr. Melcher seemed ingenuously pleading for reasonableness.  “If we make good I’ll hang out a sign, ‘Max Melcher, Matrimonial Agent.’  Meanwhile I want it understood with your mother that I share in what comes her way.”

“I’ll fix that,” promised Jim.

He found it, in fact, no very difficult task to regain at least a part of his sister’s lost esteem, though the process took time.  He went about it with the lazy, cat-like patience of his kind, behaved himself, kept his mouth shut, and assumed just enough of an injured air to be plausible.  He enlisted the aid of his mother and of Lilas Lynn, and meanwhile made himself as agreeable as possible to Robert Wharton.

Melcher was as good as his word, and there shortly appeared in The Despatch an unpleasant rehash of the former story.  It was published in connection with the Hammon divorce proceedings, news of which was exciting comment, and it further smirched Lorelei’s reputation.  Wharton ignored it utterly, but Merkle was prompt in his indignation and sympathy.  This unshaken confidence in her afforded Lorelei far more comfort than Bob’s unconcerned attitude, which might be merely the result of his own lax standards.  Upon the other men she knew the effect of the story was quickly noticeable, and she was forced to be on guard at all times.  Several whom she considered sincere admirers proved to be quite the opposite; some whom she had counted as friends dropped her entirely; others of a different sort undertook to press their acquaintance beyond prudent bounds.

Jim was appropriately indignant, but helpless, and Mrs. Knight unweariedly blamed everything upon her daughter’s desertion of the family circle, predicting more evil to follow unless Lorelei came home at once.  She also dwelt upon the fact that Peter was steadily failing and was in immediate need of both medical and surgical attention.  The doctor had pronounced sentence, prescribing a total change of living and a treatment by foreign specialists.

In some unaccountable way the story of Nobel Bergman’s humiliation became public and afforded the basis for a newspaper article that brought him to Lorelei’s dressing-room in a fine fury.  Even after she had convinced him of her innocence his resentment was so bitter that she expected her dismissal at any time.