"Maybe Mr. Merkle--"

"We'll leave him out of this," declared Lorelei; "he's too decent
to have a person like me foisted upon him--and there's no reason
whatever why he should be held responsible for my notoriety." She
turned away from the dining-room with a shudder of distaste. "I
don't want any breakfast. I think I'll get some air."

As soon as she was out in the street she turned southward
involuntarily, and set off toward the establishment of Adoree
Demorest.

Mrs. Knight dried her eyes and began to dress herself carefully,
preparatory to a journey into the Wall Street section of the city,
for the hour was drawing on toward three o'clock.

Meanwhile Jim, having transacted his business at Goldberg's
office, sought a more familiar haunt on one of the side-streets
among the forties. Here, just off Broadway, was a famous barber-
shop--a spotless place with white interior and tiled walls. Six
Italians in stiff duck coats practised their arts at a row of
well-equipped chairs. A wasp-waisted girl sat at the manicure-
table next the front windows. As Jim entered she was holding the
hand of a jaded person in a light-gray suit, and murmuring over it
with an occasional upward glance from a pair of bold dark eyes.

"Tony the Barber's" place was thoroughly antiseptic. Dirt was a
stranger there; germs found life within its portals a hazardous
business--what with the vitrified walls, the glass shelves, and
enameled plumbing. Even the towels were handled with tongs; the