"You're a sensible girl; you want to get ahead. Well, I can put
you at the top, or--"

"Or--what?" She faced him defiantly.

"Or I can put you out of the business."

The returning dancers offered a welcome diversion.

Lorelei dreaded an open clash with the manager, knowing that the
place, the hour, and the conditions were ill suited to a scene.
She had learned to smile and to consider swiftly, to cross the
thin ice of an embarrassing situation with light steps. Quickly
she turned to Mrs. 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. 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."