“I thought I’d speak to you about it,” she said. “People are talking. You’d better not let your daughter go to his room for the laundry.” Mrs. Gerhardt was too astonished and hurt for utterance. Jennie had told her nothing, but even now she did not believe there was anything to tell. The watch had been both approved of and admired by her. She had not thought that it was endangering her daughter’s reputation. Going home she worried almost incessantly, and talked with Jennie about it. The latter did not admit the implication that things had gone too far. In fact, she did not look at it in that light. She did not own, it is true, what really had happened while she was visiting the Senator. “It’s so terrible that people should begin to talk!” said her mother. “Did you really stay so long in the room?” “I don’t know,” returned Jennie, compelled by her conscience to admit at least part of the truth. “Perhaps I did.” “He has never said anything out of the way to you, has he?” “No,” answered her daughter, who did not attach any suspicion of evil to what had passed between them. If the mother had only gone a little bit further she might have learned more, but she was only too glad, for her own peace of mind, to hush the matter up. People were slandering a good man, that she knew. Jennie had been the least bit indiscreet. People were always so ready to talk. How could the poor girl, amid such unfortunate circumstances, do otherwise than she did. It made her cry to think of it. The result of it all was that she decided to get the washing herself. She came to his door the next Monday after this decision. Brander, who was expecting Jennie, was both surprised and disappointed. “Why,” he said to her, “what has become of Jennie?” Having hoped that he would not notice, or, at least, not comment upon the change, Mrs. Gerhardt did not know what to say. She looked up at him weakly in her innocent, motherly way, and said, “She couldn’t come to-night.” “Not ill, is she?” he inquired. “No.” “I’m glad to hear that,” he said resignedly. “How have you been?” Mrs. Gerhardt answered his kindly inquiries and departed. After she had gone he got to thinking the matter over, and wondered what could have happened. It seemed rather odd that he should be wondering over it. On Saturday, however, when she returned the clothes he felt that there must be something wrong. “What’s the matter, Mrs. Gerhardt?” he inquired. “Has anything happened to your daughter?” “No, sir,” she returned, too troubled to wish to deceive him. “Isn’t she coming for the laundry any more?” “I—I—” ventured the mother, stammering in her perturbation; “she—they have been talking about her,” she at last forced herself to say. “Who has been talking?” he asked gravely. “The people here in the hotel.” “Who, what people?” he interrupted, a touch of annoyance showing in his voice. “The housekeeper.” “The housekeeper, eh!” he exclaimed. “What has she got to say?”