The silence was painful, until Mrs. Pennycook choked on a cake crumb. It was a question none of them could answer, and this very fact made the silence more appalling! Even Mrs. Pennycook, who had organized the expedition, blushed. Finally she stammered: “We--we--well, to tell the truth, we hadn't heard.” Donna's eyes were wide with simulated amazement. “You hadn't heard!” “No” snapped Mrs. Pennycook, quick to see her opening, “but we were all hoping to hear--for your sake.” “But you guessed something when I resigned my position at the eating-house?” Donna could scarce restrain a smile as she saw the eagerness with which Mrs. Pennycook showed in her true colors by walking blindly into this verbal trap. A slight sardonic smile flickered across her stern features. “We didn't suspect. Everybody in town _knew._ And, not to beat about the bush, Miss Corblay, we came here to-day to find out. We're old enough to be your mother and we have daughters of our own, and in a certain sense, havin' known you from a baby, we felt sort o' responsible-like.” “Ah, I see” Donna almost breathed. “You were suspicious-like.” Two of the committee showed signs of inward disturbance, but, having fixed bayonets, Mrs. Pennycook was now prepared to charge. “We came to find out if you're an honorable married woman, or--” “Quite right, Mrs. Pennycook. That is information which you, and in fact every person in San Pasqual, is entitled to know. I am an honorable married woman. I was married in Bakersfield on the seventeenth day of last October.” “Well, then, where's your husband?” “That is a question which you are not privileged to ask, Mrs. Pennycook. However, I will answer it. My husband is about his lawful business somewhere in the Colorado desert.” “Who is this man?” “My husband's name is Robert McGraw.” Six separate and distinct gasps greeted this announcement extraordinary. A tear trembled on the eyelid of one of the ladies of whom Donna was really fond and whom she had reason to believe was fond of her. “Well, dearie” replied Mrs. Pennycook unctuously, “it's kind o' hard-like to tell whether, in your present--er--delicate condition, you're better off unmarried-like, or the wife of a man accused of holdin' up a stage at Garlock.” “It is embarrassing, isn't it?” Donna laughed. She was not in the least angry with Mrs. Pennycook. In fact, the gossip amused her very much, and in the knowledge of the day of reckoning coming to Mrs. Pennycook she could afford to laugh. “What does Dan think about it?” “Mr. Pennycook, _if_ you please” corrected his wife. “We will not mention his name in this matter.” “Well, then, what do you think of it, Mrs. Pennycook?” “To be perfectly frank-like, an' not meanin' any offense, I think, Miss Corblay, that you drove your pigs to a mighty poor market.”