hen,
with curiosity in her eyes, asked; "but I don't quite understand what's
the reason."

"Well," said Mrs. Blunt, as if nerving herself up to say what must be
said, "I thought perhaps you wouldn't like to be where they are."

"I don't know why I should or why I should not," Edith replied.

"Nor have Jack with them," continued Mrs. Blunt, stoutly.

"What do you mean, Mrs. Blunt?" cried Edith, her brown eyes flaming.

"Don't turn on me, Edith dear. I oughtn't to have said anything. But I
thought it was my duty. Of course it is only talk."

"Well?"

"That Jack is always with one or the other of those women."

"It is false!" cried Edith, starting up, with tears now in her eyes;
"it's a cruel lie if it means anything wrong in Jack. So am I with those
women; so are you. It's a shame. If you hear any one say such things,
you can tell them for me that I despise them."

"I said it was a shame, all such talk. I said it was nonsense. But,
dear, as a friend, oughtn't I to tell you?" And the kind-hearted gossip
put her arm round Edith, and kept saying that she perfectly understood
it, and that nobody really meant anything. But Edith was crying now,
with a heart both hurt and indignant.

"It's a most hateful world, I know," Mrs. Blunt answered; "but it's the
best we have, and it's no use to fret about it."

When the visitor had gone, Edith sat a long time in misery. It was the
first real shock of her married life. And in her heart she prayed. For
Jack? Oh no. The dear girl prayed for herself, that suspicions might not
enter her heart. She could not endure that the world should talk thus of
him. That was all. And when she had thought it all over and grown
calm, she went to her desk and wrote a note to Carmen. It asked Mrs.
Henderson, as they were so soon to leave town, to do her the favor to
come round informally and lunch with her the next day, and afterwards
perhaps a little drive in the Park.

X

Jack was grateful for Edith's intervention. He comprehended that she had
stepped forward as a shield to him in the gossip about Carmen. He showed
his appreciation in certain lover-like attentions and in a gayety of
manner, but it was not in his nature to feel the sacrifice she had made
or its full magnanimity; he was relieved, and in a manner absolved.
Another sort of woman might have made him very uncomfortable. Instead of
being rebuked he had a new sense of freedom.

"Not one woman in a thousand would have done i