"Well, what's that other man done?" asked the mother, who had not lost her interest in the original question. "What do folks have against him?" "Why, he's rented a house and set up a woman in it, and nobody knows who she is, and he won't let out a word about her. If she's an honest wife or his sister or a reputable friend, why the deuce doesn't he say so? Jack Sidmore says there isn't any doubt but that the woman is Falconer's mistress, to speak in plain English. Hang it! Gertrude can't take a hint." "Falconer! Why, Susan, ain't that the name of the man who rented your house?" cried the mother. Susan felt all their eyes turned on her, and knew that she was cornered. So she said "Yes," and raised her coffee-cup to her lips, but set it down quickly, as she felt her hand trembling. "And did he rent it for a _lady friend?_" Tom asked, putting a significant stress on the last two words. "He did," Susan answered. "And is there living in your house, right here beside us, a mysterious woman with a baby?" Gertrude asked eagerly. "There's a woman living in my house, and she has a little girl," said Susan on the defensive. "And does Mr. Falconer visit her?" "Perhaps so: I have no spies out." "Why, Susie! how strange! You never told me a word about it. I never dreamed that Mr. Falconer was the man who had rented your house, and who has been running here so much," Gertrude said. "Well, I'd get that woman out of my house as quick as ever I could if I was you, Susan," said Mrs. Summerhaze. "Like as not the house will get a bad name, so you'll have trouble renting it." "I'm more concerned about Gertrude's name," Tom said. Gertrude's eyes flashed daggers at Tom. "Of course Gertrude mustn't keep company with Mr. Falconer," said the mother. "Young girls can't be too particular who they 'sociate with." Susan said nothing on the subject, though by far the most concerned of the party on her sister's account. It was significant and alarming, the warmth and persistence with which Gertrude defended Mr. Falconer. It was evident that her interest was in some way enlisted. Was it sympathy she felt, or was hers a generous stand against a possible injustice? Whatever the feeling, there was danger in this young and ardent girl becoming the partisan of an interesting man. Yet how could she, the involved, bewildered Susan, dare warn Gertrude? How could she ever do it? Would it not seem even to her own heart that she was acting selfishly? How could she satisfy her own conscience that she was not moved by jealousy? Besides, what could she say? Gertrude knew all that she could tell her of Mr. Falconer and his relations--knew everything except that she, Susan, had loved--and, alas! did yet love unasked--this unworthy man.