iving together as husband and wife on
the North Side."

"Tst! Tst! Tst!" clicked Mrs. Craig with her tongue at this
astonishing news. "You don't tell me! Come to think of it, it must be
the same woman. Her father's name is Gerhardt."

"Gerhardt!" exclaimed Mrs. Sommerville. "Yes, that's the name. It
seems to me that there was some earlier scandal in connection with
her--at least there was a child. Whether he married her afterward
or not, I don't know. Anyhow, I understand his family will not have
anything to do with her."

"How very interesting!" exclaimed Mrs. Craig. "And to think he
should have married her afterward, if he really did. I'm sure you
can't tell with whom you're coming in contact these days, can
you?"

"It's so true. Life does get badly mixed at times. She appears to
be a charming woman."

"Delightful!" exclaimed Mrs. Craig. "Quite naive. I was really
taken with her."

"Well, it may be," went on her guest, "that this isn't the same
woman after all. I may be mistaken."

"Oh, I hardly think so. Gerhardt! She told me they had been living
on the North Side."

"Then I'm sure it's the same person. How curious that you should
speak of her!"

"It is, indeed," went on Mrs. Craig, who was speculating as to what
her attitude toward Jennie should be in the future.

Other rumors came from other sources. There were people who had
seen Jennie and Lester out driving on the North Side, who had been
introduced to her as Miss Gerhardt, who knew what the Kane family
thought. Of course her present position, the handsome house, the
wealth of Lester, the beauty of Vesta--all these things helped to
soften the situation. She was apparently too circumspect, too much the
good wife and mother, too really nice to be angry with; but she had a
past, and that had to be taken into consideration.

An opening bolt of the coming storm fell upon Jennie one day when
Vesta, returning from school, suddenly asked: "Mamma, who was my
papa?"

"His name was Stover, dear," replied her mother, struck at once by
the thought that there might have been some criticism--that some
one must have been saying something. "Why do you ask?"

"Where was I born?" continued Vesta, ignoring the last inquiry, and
interested in clearing up her own identity.

"In Columbus, Ohio, pet. Why?"

"Anita Ballinger said I didn't have any papa, and that you weren't
ever married when you had me. She said I wasn't a really, truly girl
at all--just a nobody.