Jennie, who was totally unconscious of the existence of this evidence of her duplicity, turned, and was instantly possessed with the idea that he had suspected all and was about to visit his just wrath upon her. Instantly the blood flamed in her cheeks and as quickly left them. “Why, why!” she stuttered, “it’s a little toy I bought.” “I see it is,” he returned genially, her guilty tremor not escaping his observation, but having at the same time no explicable significance to him. “It’s frisking around a mighty lone sheepfold.” He touched the little bell at its throat, while Jennie stood there, unable to speak. It tinkled feebly, and then he looked at her again. His manner was so humorous that she could tell he suspected nothing. However, it was almost impossible for her to recover her self-possession. “What’s ailing you?” he asked. “Nothing,” she replied. “You look as though a lamb was a terrible shock to you.” “I forgot to take it out from there, that was all,” she went on blindly. “It looks as though it has been played with enough,” he added more seriously, and then seeing that the discussion was evidently painful to her, he dropped it. The lamb had not furnished him the amusement that he had expected. Lester went back into the front room, stretched himself out and thought it over. Why was she nervous? What was there about a toy to make her grow pale? Surely there was no harm in her harboring some youngster of the neighborhood when she was alone—having it come in and play. Why should she be so nervous? He thought it over, but could come to no conclusion. Nothing more was said about the incident of the toy lamb. Time might have wholly effaced the impression from Lester’s memory had nothing else intervened to arouse his suspicions; but a mishap of any kind seems invariably to be linked with others which follow close upon its heels. One evening when Lester happened to be lingering about the flat later than usual the door bell rang, and, Jennie being busy in the kitchen, Lester went himself to open the door. He was greeted by a middle-aged lady, who frowned very nervously upon him, and inquired in broken Swedish accents for Jennie. “Wait a moment,” said Lester; and stepping to the rear door he called her. Jennie came, and seeing who the visitor was, she stepped nervously out in the hall and closed the door after her. The action instantly struck Lester as suspicious. He frowned and determined to inquire thoroughly into the matter. A moment later Jennie reappeared. Her face was white and her fingers seemed to be nervously seeking something to seize upon. “What’s the trouble?” he inquired, the irritation he had felt the moment before giving his voice a touch of gruffness. “I’ve got to go out for a little while,” she at last managed to reply. “Very well,” he assented unwillingly. “But you can tell me what’s the trouble with you, can’t you? Where do you have to go?” “I—I,” began Jennie, stammering. “I—have—” “Yes,” he said grimly.