Peter likewise awoke to a tremendous excitement. "He probably wants to get acquainted," exclaimed the invalid. "Tell him to come right up. I can see him any time." His wife was nervously pinning up her straggling hair, as if she feared the millions of the steel baron gave him the occult power to direct his vision along the wire. "What shall I say to him?" she gasped. "I suppose I'll have to call on him and Mrs. Wharton, but I haven't a thing to wear." "For God's sake, don't mention money," implored Peter. "Try to be pleasant for once in your life. Better let me talk to him." But at this suggestion Mrs. Knight flared up angrily. "You stay where you are!" she snapped. "I know how to handle rich people." "Mathilda," he shouted, as she hurried from the room, her slippers slapping loosely, a discolored wrapper clutched over her bony chest, "when he talks about Lorelei, cry for him. She's our only daughter and our only support, see? We can't bear to let her go. If you'd only help me to the 'phone--" The retort that came back was shrewish, but the next instant Mathilda's voice became as honey. "How DO you do, Mr. Wharton?" she was bubbling. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting, but I couldn't imagine ... Yes, this is Lorelei's mother. I'm all upset over the marriage, and of course you are, too; but young people do the strangest things nowadays, don't they? We forgave them, of COURSE--one COULDN'T be angry with Robert, he's such a...What?" Peter Knight let himself back into his bed with a feeble curse. Women were such hysterical fools. What man could swallow that sickly society tone? Then he lifted himself again, round-eyed with apprehension. In that attitude he remained frozen. "Why, Mr. Wharton!" came echoing through the door. "How CAN you say such a thing? ... We knew nothing about it ... We did not ... She's a good girl ... I'll have you understand you're talking to her mother ... He is not; Jim is a ... Oh! ... You talk like an old fool ... I ... You ..." The sickly society tone was no longer in evidence. Mathilda's voice was shrill and furious; it rose higher with every second. Peter shouted; he struggled with the bed-clothes. Meanwhile his wife appeared to be having a fit. Had a grounded wire poured an electric shock into her body she could not have clung to the instrument with more desperate tenacity. She writhed; her broken cries were plainly wrung from her by nothing less than agony. At last there came a cessation of her incoherence and a tinkling of the bell as she furiously vibrated the hook. "Hello! ... Hello! ... Central ... My party rang off. ... Hello!" The door of Jim's room burst open. "What the devil?" he cried. "Mathilda! Mathilda!" wailed Peter.