And the reporters took up the scent! All the magazine sections of the Sunday newspapers had articles describing Mrs. Jerome’s "latest hobby." Interviews with Mrs. Jerome—some real, some alleged—appeared in increasing numbers and with increasingly pungent specimens of this lady’s sprightly wit. Writers of special features in the evening sheets praised or deplored the "communal upbringing" of the children. The photogravure supplements took up the sport and favored their readers with pictures of every conceivable corner of the house, and also with tableaux in which the children, looking remarkably happy and well dressed, were grouped about three adults (from left to right): the Duchess of Keswick, Mrs. R. H. L. Jerome and Miss J. Barr. Finally, the Infamous Players-Smartcraft Company offered a fabulous sum for the use of the Susan B. Anthony House as the scene of an "action" (with adagio "close-ups"), which it insisted on calling (doubtless in irony) a "moving" picture. But the marvel of marvels was that, throughout this period of unbought, unsought advertising, nobody breathed the suspicion that Miss J. Barr, the calm, collected young manageress in the neat blouse and trim skirt, might be the notorious Janet Barr who had eloped two years before with Claude Fontaine! Then, one fine day, as she was leaving the Broadway side of Wanamaker’s, a man had leapt out of a magnificent limousine drawn up at the curb, and had seized her hands. It was Claude himself! Handsome and imposing as ever, with perhaps a dash less of self-confidence. He had implored her for a meeting later in the day. No, no, he wouldn’t make love to her, he solemnly swore he wouldn’t! He wanted to get a load off his conscience. His wife? Oh, he got along well enough with Marjorie, only— Well, surely Janet knew _why_ he had married her? There had simply been no alternative! If Colonel Armstrong hadn’t stood back of Fontaine and Company at the time of the smuggling exposure, the firm would have gone to smash. And so on— Janet peremptorily refused to meet him. There was no sense in a meeting, she urged. He was importunate. "What about my House?" said she. "What about my state of mind?" said he. She had tried hard to be firm. "Come not between the lion and his wrath or the tigress and her work," she said, torn this way and that between the comedy and the tragedy of the situation. To get rid of him, she had at length made an appointment for the afternoon. The appointment was never kept! The sequel proved that her encounter with Claude had been observed. That night the bloodhounds of scandal were unleashed in the Susan Anthony House. The ring-leader was the thin-edged woman with the horn-rimmed spectacles.