Once in her room, Lorelei gave way to the indignation that had been
slowly growing in her breast. How dared Bob introduce her to such
people! If this was the world in which he had moved before his marriage
he had shown his wife an insult by bringing her into it. Surely people
like the Fennells, Bert Hayman, Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire, the Madden
woman, were not typical members of New York's exclusive circles!
Applied to them, 'smart' was a laughably inadequate term; they were
worse than fast; they were frankly vicious. This was more than a gay
week-end party; it was an orgy. Lorelei's anger at her betrayal was so
keen that she dared not send for Bob immediately for fear of speaking
too violently, but she assured herself that she would leave in the
morning, even though he chose to remain.
Still in a blazing temper, she disrobed and sat down to calm herself
and to wait for her husband. A half-hour passed, then another; at last
she sent a maid in quest of him, but the report she received was not
reassuring; Bob was scarcely in a condition to come to his room.
Lorelei's lips were white as she dismissed the servant.
By and by the music ceased. She heard people passing in the hall, and
distinguished Betty Fennell's voice bidding good night to some one.
Still she waited.
Heavy with resentment, sick from disillusionment, she finally crept
into bed, leaving one electric candle burning upon her dressing-table.
Although she knew she could not sleep, she determined to postpone a
scene with Bob by feigning slumber.
When the door opened with a cautious hand she closed her eyes and lay
still. She heard Bob turn the key and tiptoe toward her, but even when
he stood over her and she caught the odor of his garments she did not
lift her lids. A moment passed, then some sixth sense gave her warning,
and her eyes flew open.
Hayman was standing at the bedside, peering down at her. He extended a
cautious hand, saying: "Don't make a fuss. Everything is all--"
Lorelei spoke sharply, but with a restraint that surprised her. "What
are you doing here?"
"What am I--? Why, nothing especial. Had to tell you good night, you
know." He laughed guardedly, nervously. She saw that he was
considerably drunker than when she had escaped from his attentions, but
evidently he knew quite well what he was about.
"Kindly get out, and close the door after you," she directed, still
without raising her voice.
"The door's closed--and locked," he snickered. Lorelei sat up with eyes
blazing. "Oh, don't worry about Bob," muttered Hayman, reassuringly.
"Bob's good for two hours yet--I've seen to that--and he couldn't find
his way up-stairs, anyhow. Say! I want to talk to you. You've got me
going, Lorelei."
"You've been drinking, Mr. Hayman. I'm willing to think that you made a
mistake in the room if you go at once."
The intruder took no warning from her crisp tones nor from the fact
that her twilight eyes were as dark as a midnight sky. On the contrary,
he suddenly bent low over her, his odorous breath beating into her
face, his arms reaching for her.
With the lithe alertness of a leopard she evaded him; the next instant
the bed was between them and she had whipped a negligee about her. For
an instant they faced each other; then she pointed a quivering arm,
gasping in a voice that sounded strange and throaty to her ears:
"Get out! Get out! You--beast!"
Hayman was unused to opposition. He had engineered this moment
carefully; a galling anger rose to meet hers as he felt his labors
wasted.
"Don't get flighty," he growled. "You knew I'd come, didn't you? Why'd
you leave your door unlocked if you didn't expect me?"
Lorelei stepped to her dressing-table and pressed the pearl
push-button, holding her finger upon it and staring at Hayman.
"Oh, ring and be damned!" he cried. "Call Bob. I'll tell him you asked
me in." He moved toward her, his body swaying, his hands shaking, his
face convulsed; but as he groped forward she snatched one of the
electric candlesticks from among her toilet articles and swung it above
her head. The fixture was of heavy brass, and its momentum ripped the
connection from its socket; her arm was tense with the strength of
utter loathing as she brought the weapon down. Hayman reeled away,
covering his face with his hands and cursing wildly; then, profiting by
his retreat, Lorelei was at the door, had turned the key, and was in
the hall before he could prevent her. Guided more by instinct than by
reason or memory, she found Mrs. Fennell's chamber and pounded upon its
door with blind fury. She heard a stir from the direction whence she
had come, and Hayman's voice calling something unintelligible; then
Mrs. Fennell's startled face appeared before her.
"What's the matter? My DEAR! You'll wake everybody in the house."
"Your brother--forced his way into--my room."
"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Fennell drew her guest swiftly
inside. "Hush! Don't make a show of yourself."
"Wha's all this?" came from Harden Fennell, who was sprawled in a
chintz-covered easy-chair, minus coat, waistcoat, and collar. He rose
slowly as Lorelei, incoherent with rage, poured out her story. "Wha's
trouble?" he mumbled. "Bob's all right--and so's Bert. They're both
drunk, but Bob's the drunkes'. What're you talkin' about, anyhow?"
"Be still!" his wife cried, sharply. "It's Bertie again." Then of
Lorelei she inquired: "But why did you let him into your room if--if
you were going to quarrel--"
"Mrs. Fennell!"
"Now, now! Don't be silly. Bertie didn't mean anything; he's
intoxicated and--there's no harm done. You said you struck him with
something. I presume he's hurt, and everybody in the house will know
about it."
"Got into your room, eh?" Harden Pennell said, thickly, then exploded
in moist laughter. "Bertie's work is all right, but it's coarse. Don't
you mind him, Mrs. Wharton."
"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:
"Betty! Let me in!"
His sister opened the door an inch or two. "You mustn't come in now,"
she expostulated, then cried, sharply: "Why, you're badly hurt. You're
all bloody!" As Hayman agreed in a burst of profanity she exclaimed
fretfully: "Oh, this is dreadful! Go to your room, for Heaven's sake!
I'll see what I can do with this--with Mrs. Wharton." Bert continued to
growl until his brother-in-law led him away down the hall. Then Mrs.
Fennell turned acidly upon her outraged guest. "Well, you've caused
enough trouble, it seems to me, without involving the rest of us in it.
A woman of your experience should be more careful. I'm sure Bertie
never would have taken such a liberty if he hadn't thought you were
accustomed to such things."
Lorelei broke out sharply. "You're as badly mistaken as your brother
was. But--I should have been more careful; I suppose a woman of my
experience shouldn't have come here at all. Now, I don't want to cause
any trouble nor scandal, so if you'll permit me to thank you for your
hospitality I'll leave at once."
"Leave? At this hour?"
"In ten minutes, if you'll rouse a chauffeur and let him drive me to
the station."
"Nonsense! You can't get Bob--"
"Bob needn't know anything about it; I'm sure that will be pleasanter
all around. I'll go alone." Lorelei's forced smile bared her even,
white teeth. "Of course, if it's too much trouble I can walk--"
"No trouble at all." Mrs. Fennell showed some relief. "I think you're
acting very rudely--but I dare say it WOULD save a lot of
unpleasantness; Bertie's furious--he and Bob might fight. I--I'm
dreadfully sorry. Still, I can't permit you--"
"In ten minutes, then. If there's no train I may ask your chauffeur to
drive me into the city."
"Why, to be sure! Er--what shall I tell Bob when he asks for you?"
"Use your own judgment, please. You can handle drunken men better than
I. And don't trouble to send a maid to my room. I'll be down-stairs
when the car comes."
The hostess continued to demur feebly, but Lorelei cut short any
further discussion, and, once behind her own locked door, she dressed
with feverish haste. Her only desire now was to escape from
Fennellcourt and all its guests as quickly as possible. Her thoughts
concerning Bob at the moment were too much involved in anger at the
Fennells and at Hayman to be quite coherent.
She was pacing the gloom of the porte-cochere when an automobile swung
out from among the trees and swept the shadows flying with its brushes
of flame. As she directed the driver, from an open window behind her
came a drunken shout; a burst of men's laughter followed the car as it
rolled away.
So that was the charmed circle to which she had aspired, those the
people she had envied; behind her was that life to which she had sold
herself, and this was the end of her dream of fine ladies and gallant
gentlemen! Lorelei scarcely knew whether to laugh or to cry. As she
stared out at the night shapes capering past she felt acute personal
shame that she had been tricked into even a brief association with so
vile a crew. That uproar of men's voices rang in her ears like a
jeering farewell, and she realized that in all probability her flight
would appear ridiculous to Bob's friends. Women like the kalsomined
widow, the masculine matron, the jaded Wyeth girl, would echo that
laughter and score her with their gossip on the morrow; the thought
turned her mind bitterly toward Bob. He had defiled her by bringing her
into contact with those libertines. He had left her defenseless against
their insults and unprotected from the assaults of men he knew to be
capable of anything. He had told her to forget she was married and have
a good time; he had refused her appeal for protection. She asked
herself dazedly what sort of a creature he could be. Of a sudden the
old life of the theater and the cafe seemed clean as opposed to the
fetid existence behind her; even Jim, adventurer, crook, blackmailer
that he was, appeared wholesome compared with men like Hayman and his
brother-in-law. Although Lorelei, under ordinary circumstances, was
even-tempered, her anger, once aroused, was tenacious. As she brooded
over her humiliation her indignation at Bob began to take definite
shape and purpose.
She reached the little apartment in the hushed hours before the dawn,
and straightway began her packing. Since Bob was doubtless in a drunken
stupor which would last for hours, she did not hurry.
Only once did she halt in her labors, and then only from surprise. In a
bureau drawer she uncovered a bundle of letters and documents addressed
to her husband, which in some way aroused her curiosity. Swallowing her
qualms, she examined the contents. They proved to be, in the main,
letters from Bob's mother and father urging him to break off his
marriage. Those from Mr. Wharton were characteristically intolerant and
dictatorial; those from Bob's mother were plaintive and infinitely sad.
Both parents, she perceived, had exhausted every effort to win their
son from his infatuation, both believed Lorelei to be an infamous woman
bent upon his destruction, and, judging from the typewritten reports
inclosed with some of the father's letters, there was ample reason for
such a belief. These reports covered Lorelei's every movement, they
bared every bit of ancient scandal connected with her, they recounted
salacious stage gossip as fact and falsely construed those actions
which were capable of more than one interpretation. It gave the girl a
peculiar sensation of unreality to see her life laid out before her
eyes in so distorted a shape, and when she read the business-like
biographies of herself and the members of her family she could only
marvel at Bob's faith. For evidently he had not answered a single
letter. Nevertheless, after preparing an early breakfast, she sent her
trunks down-stairs and 'phoned for a taxi-cab.