"Where?" demanded his son.

"Anywhere. You can't stay here."

"You're infallible in business, dad," Bob protested, "but where
sentiment is concerned you're a terrible failure."

"Not at all! Not at all!" Mr. Wharton exclaimed, irritably. "I
know real sentiment when I see it, and I'll foot the bill for this
counterfeit, but I'm too tired to argue."

Lorelei was standing very white and still; now she said, "Don't
you think you'd better go?"

The elder man laid aside his hat and gloves, then spoke with
snarling deliberation. "I'll go when I choose. No high and mighty
airs with me, if you please." After a curious scrutiny of them
both he asked his son: "You don't really imagine that she married
you for anything except your money, do you?"

"I flattered myself--" Bob began, stiffly.

"Bah! You're drunk."

"Moderately, perhaps--or let us say that I am in an unnaturally
argumentative mood. I take issue with you. You see, dad, I've been
crazy about Lorelei ever since I first saw her, and--"

"To be sure, that's quite natural. But why in hell did you MARRY
her? That wasn't necessary, was it?"