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Thompson-Bellaire, the fierceness of which was only equaled by its absurdity. Lorelei stole out of the room again with ears burning; her dislike of the muscular widow had turned to loathing, and she was glad to return to the lights and laughter.
Thompson-Bellaire beckoned, and Wharton came forward, his eyes fixed gloomily upon Lorelei. "You rascal! So THIS is how you waste your evenings. I AM surprised, but, now that we've caught you, won't you join us?" Wharton glanced at the four pawns and hesitated. "It's long past nine; I'm afraid the boys will be late for school."
Thompson-Bellaire, who was bowing effusively to a newcomer. "My word! What is Bob Wharton doing here?" exclaimed the widow. "Bob Wharton? Where?" Miss Wyeth's languor vanished electrically; she wrenched her attention from the wire-haired fraternity man at her side. Lorelei felt a sense of great thanksgiving. Mrs.
Once the meal had dragged itself to a conclusion, there began the customary round of the dancing-places this being the popular conception of a lark and Lorelei allowed herself to be bundled in and out of the Thompson-Bellaire theater-car. There was considerable drinking, Bergman, who devoted himself assiduously to his employee, showing more effect from it than the others.
Thompson-Bellaire was a vermilion-haired widow with a chest like a blacksmith, who had become famous for her jewels and her social eccentricities. She and her party were established at one of the up-town "Trottoires," when Nobel Bergman and Lorelei arrived.
Thompson-Bellaire was equally observant and at length made her disapproval patent by a remark that set the table laughing and drove the blood from Lorelei's face. As if further to vent her resentment at Bob, the widow turned spitefully upon his wife. Seeing Lorelei wince, Hayman murmured consolingly: "Oh! Don't mind the old heifer. She's jealous of any man Alice speaks to." But Mrs.
Say, there's some society people out front who want to meet you, and you're to join them after the show." "Indeed. Who said so?" "Bergman." "Declined, with thanks," promptly said Lorelei. "Oh, wait. You can't decline this; it's business; Bergman says you must come as a personal favor to him. Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire is giving a box-party, and she told him to fetch you around for supper.
Thompson-Bellaire seemed to take a quenchless delight in embarrassing her victim, and sometime later Lorelei heard her explain to the man on her right: "We weren't surprised in the least. ... Bob's always doing some crazy thing when he's drunk. ... His latest fancy ... pretty, of course, but ... from some Western village, I believe ... can't possibly last. Why should it?"
She owns a piece of this show, and the theater belongs to the estate, so you'll just have to go." "Mercy! Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire, the college-boy's giddy godmother," Lilas mocked. "I suppose she's out slumming, with her kindergarten class." Slosson frowned at this levity. "Will you go?" he inquired. "Yes or no?" "Um-m I'll have to say 'yes, it seems." "Good. I'll 'phone Bergman."
Lorelei named several tailors of whom Bob had seldom heard. "That won't do," he said, positively. "I'll get a list of the smartest shops from Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire, and I want you to buy enough gowns to last till we reach Paris a couple dozen will do then we'll fit out properly. I'll bet you never went shopping really shopping did you? and bought everything you saw?" "Of course not.
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