me now," she said in a low voice.

"I had a sovereign given me by the young lady. You see, it was her
birthday party, Ellen, and she'd come into a nice bit of money, and
she gave each of us waiters a sovereign."

Mrs. Bunting made no comment. Instead, she lay back and closed her
eyes.

"What time d'you expect Daisy?" she asked languidly. "You didn't
say what time Joe was going to fetch her, when we was talking about
it yesterday."

"Didn't I? Well, I expect they'll be in to dinner."

"I wonder, how long that old aunt of hers expects us to keep her?"
said Mrs. Bunting thoughtfully. All the cheer died out of Bunting's
round face. He became sullen and angry. It would be a pretty thing
if he couldn't have his own daughter for a bit--especially now that
they were doing so well!

"Daisy'll stay here just as long as she can," he said shortly.
"It's too bad of you, Ellen, to talk like that! She helps you all
she can; and she brisks us both up ever so much. Besides, 'twould
be cruel--cruel to take the girl away just now, just as she and
that young chap are making friends-like. One would suppose that
even you would see the justice o' that!"

But Mrs. Bunting made no answer.

Bunting went off, back into the sitting-room. The water was boiling
now, so he made the tea; and then, as he brought the little tray in,
his heart softened. Ellen did look really ill--ill and wizened.
He wondered if she had a pain about which she wasn't saying anything.
She had never been one to grouse about herself.

"The lodger and me came in together last night," he observed
genially. "He's certainly a funny kind of gentleman. It wasn't
the sort of night one would have chosen to go out for a walk, now
was it? And yet he must 'a been out a long time if what he said
was true."

"I don't wonder a quiet gentleman like Mr. Sleuth hates the
crowded streets," she said slowly. "They gets worse every day--
that they do! But go along now; I want to get up."

He went back into their sitting-room, and, having laid the fire
and put a match to it, he sat down comfortably with his newspaper.

Deep down in his heart Bunting looked back to this last night with
a feeling of shame and self-rebuke. Whatever had made such horrible
thoughts and suspicions as had possessed him suddenly come into his
head? And just because of a trifling thing like that blood. No
doubt Mr. Sleuth's nose had bled--that was what had happened;
though, come to think of it, he had ment