"I hear you've made a fool of yourself again," he began, showing his teeth in a faint smile. "Have you given up your apartment at the Charlevoix?" "Not yet," said Bob. "We're considering a suite at the Ritz for a few days." "Indeed. You're going back to the Charlevoix to-night." Lorelei started. She had expected opposition, but was unprepared for anything so blunt and business-like. "I think you and Bob can talk more freely if I leave you alone," she said. Hannibal Wharton replied shortly: "No, don't leave. I'll talk freer with you here." It appeared, however, that Robert stood in no awe of his father's anger; he said lightly: "They never come back, dad. I'm a regular married man. Lorelei is my royal consort, my yoke-mate, my rib. We'll have to scratch the Charlevoix." This levity left the caller unmoved; to Lorelei he explained: "I want no notoriety, so all we need talk about is terms. You'll fare better by dealing directly with me than through lawyers--I'll fight a lawsuit--so let's get down to business. You should realize, however, that these settlements are never as large as they're advertised. I'll pay you ten thousand dollars and stand the costs of the divorce proceedings." "You are making a mistake," she told him, quietly. "I expected you to refuse, but ten thousand dollars is better than nothing. Talk it over with your people. Now, Bob, come with me." "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?" 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.