been cunningly distorted; flippancy, sensationalism, and a
salacious double meaning ran through it all.

"What's dreadful about it?" inquired her brother. "That sort of
advertising does a show-girl good. You've got to make people talk
about you, Sis, and this'll bring a gang of high-rollers your way.
You've been so blamed proper that nobody's interested in you any
more."

For a moment Lorelei scrutinized her brother in silence, taken
aback at his outrageous philosophy. Jim had changed greatly, she
mused; not until very lately had she observed the full measure of
the change in him. He was no longer the country boy, the playmate
and confidant of her youth, but a man, sophisticated, hard,
secretive. He had been thoroughly Manhattanized, she perceived,
and he was as foreign to her as a stranger. She shook her head
hopelessly.

"You're a strange brother," she said. "I hardly know what to make
of you. Has the city killed every decent instinct in you, Jim?"

"Now don't begin on the Old Home stuff," he replied, testily. "I
haven't changed any more than you have. Why, ma used to think
you'd play dead or jump through whenever she snapped her finger,
but--you're getting tough-bitted. You're getting sanctimonious in
your old age. Where you got it from I don't know--not from ma,
surely, nor from dad; he's a cheater and always has been."

"JIM!"