arrogance that secretly delighted her; he displayed the assurance
of one reared to selfish exactions, and his rival writhed under
it. But Bergman was slow to admit defeat, and when his unspoken
threats failed to impress the girl he began to ply Wharton with
wine. Bob accepted the challenge blithely, and a drinking-bout
followed.

The widow T. B. and her party looked on with enjoyment.

Dawn was near when the crowd separated and the hostess was driven
away, leaving Lorelei at the door of a taxi-cab in company with
her two admirers. The girl bade them each good night, but Bergman
ignored her words and, stepping boldly in after her, spoke to the
driver.

Bob had imbibed with a magnificent disregard of consequences, and
as a result he was unsteady on his feet. His hat was tilted back
from his brow, his slender stick bent beneath the weight he put
upon it.

"Naughty, naughty Nobel!" he chided. "Come out of that cab; you
and I journey arm and arm into the purpling East."

"Drive on," cried Bergman, forcing Lorelei back into her seat, as
she half rose.

Bob leaned through the open cab window, murmuring thickly: "Nobel,
you are drunk. Shocked--nay, grieved--as I am at seeing you thus,
I shall take you home."