Lorelei uttered a sharp cry. Bob rose; his eyes were bright and
hard. Mr. Wharton merely arched his shaggy brows, inquiring
quickly of the bride: "What's the matter? I state the case
correctly, do I not?"

"No!" gasped Lorelei.

"Let's talk plainly--"

"That's a bit too plain, even from you, dad," Bob cried, angrily.

"It's time for plain speaking. You got drunk, and she trapped you.
I'm here to get you out of the trap. It's a matter of money, isn't
it? Well, then, don't let's allow sentiment to creep in."
Addressing himself to Lorelei, he said: "You probably counted on
five times the sum I offer, but ten thousand dollars will buy a
lot of clothes, and the publicity won't hurt you professionally;
it'll do you good. You might even spend the winter in Europe and
catch another victim. I believe that's the amount Merkle offered
you, isn't it?"

"Merkle? What are you talking about?" Bob demanded.

"Did Mr. Merkle tell you how and why he came to make that offer?"
asked Lorelei, indignantly.

"No. But he offered it, did he not?"

"Yes, and I refused it. Ask him why?"