"They tried to scare him into marrying you, did they not?"
"Hammon said something about that," ejaculated Bob, "but I don't believe—"
Lorelei checked him. "It's quite true."
"Merkle said you had nothing to do with it personally," conscientiously explained Mr. Wharton, "and I'm willing to take his word. But that's neither here nor there." There was a moment of silence during which he folded and replaced the report; then he shook his head, exclaiming, "Second-hand goods, my boy!"
"That's a lie!" Lorelei's voice was like a whip.
Mr. Wharton eyed her grimly. "That's something for Bob to determine—I have only the indications to go on. I don't blame him for losing his wits—you're very good-looking—but the affair must end. You're not a girl I'd care to have in my family—pardon my bluntness."
She met his eyes fairly. At no time had she flinched before him, although inwardly she had cringed and her flesh had quivered at his merciless attack.
"You have told Bob the truth," she began, slowly, "in the worst possible way; you have put me in the most unfavorable light. I dare say I never would have had the courage to tell him myself, although he deserves to know. I've been pretty—commercial—because I had to be, but I never sold myself, and I sha'n't begin now. Bob isn't a child; he's nearly thirty years old—old enough to make up his own mind—and he must make this decision, not I."
Bob opened his lips, but his father forestalled him.
"What do you mean by that?"