He nodded reassuringly, and, not having curiosity enough to accept the other’s offer and step across the road and see what he would get, shaded his eyes with his hand and looked with exaggerated anxiety up the road. Mr. Jobling, heavy of brow, returned to the parlor and looked hard at his wife. “She’s late,” said Mrs. Jobling, glancing at the clock. “I do hope she’s all right, but I should feel anxious about her if she was my gal. It’s a dangerous life.” “Dangerous life!” said Mr. Jobling, roughly. “What’s a dangerous life?” “Why, hers,” replied his wife, with a nervous smile. “Joe Brown told me. He followed her ’ome last night, and this morning he found out all about her.” The mention of Mr. Brown’s name caused Mr. Jobling at first to assume an air of indifference; but curiosity overpowered him. “What lies has he been telling?” he demanded. “I don’t think it’s a lie, Bill,” said his wife, mildly. “Putting two and two—” “What did he say?” cried Mr. Jobling, raising his voice. “He said, ‘She—she’s a lady detective,’” stammered Mrs. Jobling, putting her handkerchief to her unruly mouth. “A tec!” repeated her husband. “A lady tec?” Mrs. Jobling nodded. “Yes, Bill. She—she—she—” “Well?” said Mr. Jobling, in exasperation. “She’s being employed by Gingell and Watson,” said his wife. Mr. Jobling sprang to his feet, and with scarlet face and clinched fists strove to assimilate the information and all its meaning. “What—what did she come here for? Do you mean to tell me she thinks _I_ took the money?” he said, huskily, after a long pause. Mrs. Jobling bent before the storm. “I think she took a fancy to you, Bill,” she said, timidly. Mr. Jobling appeared to swallow something; then he took a step nearer to her. “You let me see you laugh again, that’s all,” he said, fiercely. “As for that Jezzybill—” “There she is,” said his wife, as a knock sounded at the door. “Don’t say anything to hurt her feelings, Bill. You said she was to be pitied. And it must be a hard life to ’ave to go round and flatter old married men. I shouldn’t like it.” Mr. Jobling, past speech, stood and glared at her. Then, with an inarticulate cry, he rushed to the front door and flung it open. Miss Robinson, fresh and bright, stood smiling outside. Within easy distance a little group of neighbors were making conversation, while opposite Mr. Brown awaited events. “What d’you want?” demanded Mr. Jobling, harshly. Miss Robinson, who had put out her hand, drew it back and gave him a swift glance. His red face and knitted brows told their own story. “Oh!” she said, with a winning smile, “will you please tell Mrs. Jobling that I can’t come to tea with her this evening?” “Isn’t there anything else you’d like to say?” inquired Mr. Jobling, disdainfully, as she turned away. The girl paused and appeared to reflect. “You can say that I am sorry to miss an amusing evening,” she said, regarding him steadily. “Good-by.” Mr. Jobling slammed the door. A CIRCULAR TOUR