“You don’t say!” commented her friend curiously. “He looks like such a staid, conservative person.” “Oh, no doubt, in a way, he is,” went on Mrs. Sommerville. “His family is of the very best. There was some young woman he went with—so my husband tells me. I don’t know whether this is the one or not, but she was introduced as a Miss Gorwood, or some such name as that, when they were living together as husband and wife on the North Side.” “Tst! Tst! Tst!” clicked Mrs. Craig with her tongue at this astonishing news. “You don’t tell me! Come to think of it, it must be the same woman. Her father’s name is Gerhardt.” “Gerhardt!” exclaimed Mrs. Sommerville. “Yes, that’s the name. It seems to me that there was some earlier scandal in connection with her—at least there was a child. Whether he married her afterward or not, I don’t know. Anyhow, I understand his family will not have anything to do with her.” “How very interesting!” exclaimed Mrs. Craig. “And to think he should have married her afterward, if he really did. I’m sure you can’t tell with whom you’re coming in contact these days, can you?” “It’s so true. Life does get badly mixed at times. She appears to be a charming woman.” “Delightful!” exclaimed Mrs. Craig. “Quite naive. I was really taken with her.” “Well, it may be,” went on her guest, “that this isn’t the same woman after all. I may be mistaken.” “Oh, I hardly think so. Gerhardt! She told me they had been living on the North Side.” “Then I’m sure it’s the same person. How curious that you should speak of her!” “It is, indeed,” went on Mrs. Craig, who was speculating as to what her attitude toward Jennie should be in the future. Other rumors came from other sources. There were people who had seen Jennie and Lester out driving on the North Side, who had been introduced to her as Miss Gerhardt, who knew what the Kane family thought. Of course her present position, the handsome house, the wealth of Lester, the beauty of Vesta—all these things helped to soften the situation. She was apparently too circumspect, too much the good wife and mother, too really nice to be angry with; but she had a past, and that had to be taken into consideration. An opening bolt of the coming storm fell upon Jennie one day when Vesta, returning from school, suddenly asked: “Mamma, who was my papa?” “His name was Stover, dear,” replied her mother, struck at once by the thought that there might have been some criticism—that some one must have been saying something. “Why do you ask?” “Where was I born?” continued Vesta, ignoring the last inquiry, and interested in clearing up her own identity. “In Columbus, Ohio, pet. Why?” “Anita Ballinger said I didn’t have any papa, and that you weren’t ever married when you had me. She said I wasn’t a really, truly girl at all—just a nobody. She made me so mad I slapped her.”