"I thought you were going to be pleasant, but you're not, are you?"
Lorelei was smiling fixedly.
"No, quite the opposite. Thank God, I'm a dyspeptic."
"Then why did you come here?"
"Why did those birds come? Why did you come?"
"Oh, we—the birds and I—are merely decorations—something to add to the rich man's gaiety. But I'm afraid you don't intend to have a good time, Mr.—" They had found their places at the table, and Lorelei's escort was seating her. "I didn't catch your name when we were introduced."
"Nor I," said he, taking his place beside her. "It sounded like Rice
Curry or some other damnable dish, but it's really Merkle—John T.
Merkle."
"Ah! You're a banker. Aren't you pretty—reckless confessing your rank, as it were?"
"I'm a bachelor; also an invalid and an insomniac. You couldn't bring me any more trouble than I have."
"You ARE unpleasant."
"I'm famous for it. Being the only bachelor present, I claim the privilege of free speech." Again he looked toward Hammon, and this time he frowned. "From indications I'll soon have company, however."