Bob’s mother turned to her son, saying:  “She is beautiful, and she is good, too.  Anybody can see that.  We could love her for what she has done for you, if for nothing else.”

“Well, I should say so,” proudly vaunted the son.  “She took a chance when she didn’t care for me, and she made me into a regular fellow.  Why, she reformed me from the ground up.  I’ve sworn off every blessed thing I used to do.”

“Including drinking?” gruffly queried the father.

“Yes.”

Lorelei smiled her slow, reluctant smile at the visitors, and her voice was gentle as she said:  “He thinks he has, but it’s hard to stop entirely, and you mustn’t blame him if he forgets himself occasionally.  You see, drinking is mostly a matter of temperament, after all.  But he is doing splendidly, and some day perhaps—­”

They nodded understandingly.

“You’ll try to like us, won’t you, for Bob’s sake?” pleaded the old lady, timidly.

“I intend to love you both very dearly,” shyly returned the girl, and, noting the light in Lorelei’s face, Bob Wharton was satisfied.

Restraint vanished swiftly under the old couple’s evident determination to make amends, but after they had gone Lorelei became so pensive that Bob said, anxiously, “I hope you weren’t polite to them merely for my sake.”

Lorelei shook her head “No.  I was only thinking—­Do you realize that none of my own people have been to see me?  That I haven’t had a single word from any of them?”

Bob stirred uncomfortably; he started to speak, then checked himself as she went on, not without some effort:  “I’m going to say something unpleasant, but I think you ought to know it.  When they learn that your parents have taken me in and made up with us they’re going to ask me for money.  It’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true.”

“Do you want to see them?  Do you want them to see the baby?”

“N—­no!” Lorelei was pale as she made answer.  “Not after all that has passed.”

Bob heaved a grateful sigh.  “I’m glad.  They won’t trouble you any more.”

“Why?  What—­”

“I’ve been waiting until you were strong to tell you.  I’ve noticed how their silence hurt you, but—­it’s my fault that they haven’t been here.  I sent them away.”

“You sent them away?”

“Yes.  I fixed them with money and—­they’re happy at last.  There’s considerable to tell.  Jim got into trouble with the police and finally sent for me.  He told me everything and—­it wasn’t pretty; I’d rather not repeat all he said, but it opened my eyes and showed me why they brought you here, how they put you on the auction block, and how they cried for bids.  He told me things you know nothing about and could never guess.  When he had finished I thanked God that they had flung you into my arms instead of—­some other man’s.  It’s a miracle that you weren’t sacrificed utterly.”

“Where is Jim now?”