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Updated: May 5, 2025
The air within the room was blue and reeking with the odor of stale tobacco-smoke, and the ash-receiver at his elbow was piled high with burnt offerings, one of which was now sending an evil-smelling streamer toward the ceiling. Pope rose at Adoree's entrance, eying her anxiously. "Is everything all right?" he cried. "Is what all right?" "The er Lorelei." "Oh yes! What are you doing here?"
The doctor heard him fumbling at the bedroom door and admitted him; then a low, aching cry of disappointment sounded, and Adoree Demorest bowed her head upon her arms. When Bob groped his way back into the living-room his look was ghastly; his face was damp; his eyes were desperate. "She sent me away," he whispered. "Poor thing!" He winced at Adoree's tone. "God! I heard her when she saw you.
Pope's music was far from lively, and he had cunningly chosen the hour when it exerts its greatest emotional appeal. He was artist enough, moreover, to work his effects with certainty. Lorelei sought relief at length in the seclusion of Adoree's rear room, and there in the midst of a "crying spell" Bob found her.
The time lacked perhaps an hour of dawn, the street outside and the building itself was silent, yet from Adoree's parlor issued the sound of light fingers upon piano-keys. Adoree entered, to find Campbell Pope, with collar loosened and hair on end, seated at the instrument.
In addition to all these there was an elaborate enameled baby's bed with garlands of bisque flowers and a point d'esprit canopy. This Adoree's sad-faced footman had held upon the front of the automobile during an embarrassing trip up Fifth Avenue and Riverside Drive.
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