The two looked at each other in silence. Mrs. Gerhardt, with her imaginative nature, endeavored to formulate some picture of this new and wonderful personality that had come into Jennie’s life. He was wealthy; he wanted to take Jennie; he wanted to give them a good home. What a story! “And he gave me this,” put in Jennie, who, with some instinctive psychic faculty, had been following her mother’s mood. She opened her dress at the neck, and took out the two hundred and fifty dollars; she placed the money in her mother’s hands. The latter stared at it wide-eyed. Here was the relief for all her woes—food, clothes, rent, coal—all done up in one small package of green and yellow bills. If there were plenty of money in the house Gerhardt need not worry about his burned hands; George and Martha and Veronica could be clothed in comfort and made happy. Jennie could dress better; there would be a future education for Vesta. “Do you think he might ever want to marry you?” asked her mother finally. “I don’t know,” replied Jennie “he might. I know he loves me.” “Well,” said her mother after a long pause, “if you’re going to tell your father you’d better do it right away. He’ll think it’s strange as it is.” Jennie realized that she had won. Her mother had acquiesced from sheer force of circumstances. She was sorry, but somehow it seemed to be for the best. “I’ll help you out with it,” her mother had concluded, with a little sigh. The difficulty of telling this lie was very great for Mrs. Gerhardt, but she went through the falsehood with a seeming nonchalance which allayed Gerhardt’s suspicions. The children were also told, and when, after the general discussion, Jennie repeated the falsehood to her father it seemed natural enough. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” he inquired. “About two or three weeks,” she replied. “That’s a nice trip,” he said. “I came through New York in 1844. It was a small place then compared to what it is now.” Secretly he was pleased that Jennie should have this fine chance. Her employer must like her. When Monday came Jennie bade her parents good-by and left early, going straight to the Dornton, where Lester awaited her. “So you came,” he said gaily, greeting her as she entered the ladies’ parlor. “Yes,” she said simply. “You are my niece,” he went on. “I have engaged H room for you near mine. I’ll call for the key, and you go dress. When you’re ready I’ll have the trunk sent to the depôt. The train leaves at one o’clock.” She went to her room and dressed, while he fidgeted about, read, smoked, and finally knocked at her door. She replied by opening to him, fully clad. “You look charming,” he said with a smile. She looked down, for she was nervous and distraught. The whole process of planning, lying, nerving herself to carry out her part had been hard on her. She looked tired and worried. “Not grieving, are you?” he asked, seeing how things stood. “No-o,” she replied.