"Will you send some one for Bob?" Lorelei asked, more quietly. "I want to—leave."
But her hostess protested. "Now why stir up trouble? Bob is drunk; he and Bertie are old friends. Bertie will apologize in the morning, and—after all, it was nothing. I told you he was mad about you. He's just like any other man, and you shouldn't have encouraged him."
"Will you send for my husband?"
Mrs. Fennell's gaze hardened; she stiffened herself, saying coldly:
"Why, certainly, if you insist upon rousing the whole household; but he's in no condition to understand this silly affair. You might have SOME consideration for us."
"Sure!" echoed the husband. "Go to sleep and forget it. Don't spoil the party."
"You realize we have other guests?" snapped Mrs. Fennell.
Bright disks of color were burning in Lorelei's cheeks; she was smiling peculiarly.
"Rest easy," she said. "I've no wish to embarrass you nor to drag my husband into this rotten business. It seems he's as modern as the rest of you, but I'm—old-fashioned."
There came a knock at the door, and Hayman's voice, calling: