the
inmates of the Cobden house, and any little scraps of news, reliable or
not, about either Jane or her absent sister were eagerly listened to.
Finding it impossible to restrain herself any longer, she had seized
the opportunity one evening when she and her son were sitting together
in the salon, a rare occurrence for the doctor, and only possible when
his patients were on the mend.

"I'm sorry Jane Cobden was so foolish as to bring home that baby," she
began.

"Why?" said the doctor, without lifting his eyes from the book he was
reading.

"Oh, she lays herself open to criticism. It is, of course, but one of
her eccentricities, but she owes something to her position and birth
and should not invite unnecessary comment."

"Who criticises her?" asked the doctor, his eyes still on the pages.

"Oh, you can't tell; everybody is talking about it. Some of the gossip
is outrageous, some I could not even repeat."

"I have no doubt of it," answered the doctor quietly. "All small places
like Warehold and Barnegat need topics of conversation, and Miss Jane
for the moment is furnishing one of them. They utilize you, dear
mother, and me, and everybody else in the same way. But that is no
reason why we should lend our ears or our tongues to spread and
encourage it."

"I quite agree with you, my son, and I told the person who told me how
foolish and silly it was, but they will talk, no matter what you say to
them."

"What do they say?" asked the doctor, laying down his book and rising
from his chair.

"Oh, all sorts of things. One rumor is that Captain Holt's son, Barton,
the one that quarrelled with his father and who went to sea, could tell
something of the child, if he could be found."

The doctor laughed. "He can be found," he answered. "I saw his father
only last week, and he told me Bart was in Brazil. That is some
thousand of miles from Paris, but a little thing like that in geography
doesn't seem to make much difference to some of our good people. Why do
you listen to such nonsense?" he added as he kissed her tenderly and,
with a pat on her cheek, left the room for his study. His mother's talk
had made but little impression upon him. Gossip of this kind was always
current when waifs like Archie formed the topic; but it hurt nobody, he
said to himself--nobody like Jane.

Sitting under his study lamp looking up some complicated case, his
books about him, Jane's sad face came before him. "Has she not had
trouble