Jennie retreated, shocked and surprised by this reception. She did not

know what to think of it. He was restored on the instant to his far-off,

mighty throne, and left to rule in peace. Why should he not withdraw the

light of his countenance if it pleased him. But why—

A day or two later he repented mildly, but had no time to readjust matters.

His washing was taken and delivered with considerable formality, and he

went on toiling forgetfully, until at last he was miserably defeated by two votes. Astounded by this result, he lapsed into gloomy dejection of soul.

What was he to do now?

Into this atmosphere came Jennie, bringing with her the lightness and

comfort of her own hopeful disposition. Nagged to desperation by his

thoughts, Brander first talked to her to amuse himself; but soon his

distress imperceptibly took flight; he found himself actually smiling.

"Ah, Jennie," he said, speaking to her as he might have done to a child,

"youth is on your side. You possess the most valuable thing in life."

"Do I?"

"Yes, but you don't realise it. You never will until it is too late."

"I love that girl," he thought to himself that night. "I wish I could have her with me always."

But fortune had another fling for him to endure. It got about the hotel that Jennie was, to use the mildest expression, conducting herself strangely. A girl who carries washing must expect criticism if anything not befitting

her station is observed in her apparel. Jennie was seen wearing the gold

watch. Her mother was informed by the housekeeper of the state of

things.

"I thought I'd speak to you about it," she said. "People are talking. You'd better not let your daughter go to his room for the laundry."

Mrs. Gerhardt was too astonished and hurt for utterance. Jennie had told

her nothing, but even now she did not believe there was anything to tell.

The watch had been both approved of and admired by her. She had not

thought that it was endangering her daughter's reputation.

Going home she worried almost incessantly, and talked with Jennie about

it. The latter did not admit the implication that things had gone too far. In fact, she did not look at it in that light. She did not own, it is true, what really had happened while she was visiting the Senator.

"It's so terrible that people should begin to talk!" said her mother. "Did you really stay so long in the room?"

"I don't know," returned Jennie, compelled by her conscience to admit at least part of the truth. "Perhaps I did."

"He has never said anything out of the way to you, has he?"

"No," answered her daughter, who did not attach any suspicion of evil to what had passed between them.

If the mother had only gone a little bit further she might have learned

more, but she was only too glad, for her own peace of mind, to hush the

matter up. People were slandering a good man, that she knew. Jennie had

been the least bit indiscreet. People were always so ready to talk. How

could the poor girl, amid such unfortunate circumstances, do otherwise

than she did. It made her cry to think of it.

The result of it all was that she decided to get the washing herself.

She came to his door the next Monday after this decision. Brander, who

was expecting Jennie, was both surprised and disappointed.

"Why," he said to her, "what has become of Jennie?"

Having hoped that he would not notice, or, at least, not comment upon the change, Mrs. Gerhardt did not know what to say. She looked up at him

weakly in her innocent, motherly way, and said, "She couldn't come tonight."

"Not ill, is she?" he inquired.

"No."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said resignedly. "How have you been?"

Mrs. Gerhardt answered his kindly inquiries and departed. After she had

gone he got to thinking the matter over, and wondered what could have

happened. It seemed rather odd that he should be wondering over it.

On Saturday, however, when she returned the clothes he felt that there

must be something wrong.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Gerhardt?" he inquired. "Has anything happened to your daughter?"

"No, sir," she returned, too troubled to wish to deceive him.

"Isn't she coming for the laundry any more?"

"I—I—" ventured the mother, stammering in her perturbation; "she—

they have been talking about her," she at last forced herself to say.

"Who has been talking?" he asked gravely.

"The people here in the hotel."

"Who, what people?" he interrupted, a touch of annoyance showing in his voice.

"The housekeeper."

"The housekeeper, eh!" he exclaimed. "What has she got to say?"

The mother related to him her experience.

"And she told you that, did she?" he remarked in wrath. "She ventures to trouble herself about my affairs, does she? I wonder people can't mind

their own business without interfering with mine. Your daughter, Mrs.

Gerhardt, is perfectly safe with me. I have no intention of doing her an

injury. It's a shame," he added indignantly, "that a girl can't come to my room in this hotel without having her motive questioned. I'll look into this matter."

"I hope you don't think that I have anything to do with it," said the mother apologetically. "I know you like Jennie and wouldn't injure her. You've done so much for her and all of us, Mr. Brander, I feel ashamed to keep

her away."

"That's all right, Mrs. Gerhardt," he said quietly. "You did perfectly right.

I don't blame you in the least. It is the lying accusation passed about in this hotel that I object to. We'll see about that."

Mrs. Gerhardt stood there, pale with excitement. She was afraid she had

deeply offended this man who had done so much for them. If she could

only say something, she thought, that would clear this matter up and

make him feel that she was no tattler. Scandal was distressing to her.

"I thought I was doing everything for the best," she said at last.

"So you were," he replied. "I like Jennie very much. I have always enjoyed her coming here. It is my intention to do well by her, but perhaps it will be better to keep her away, at least for the present."

Again that evening the Senator sat in his easy-chair and brooded over this new development. Jennie was really much more precious to him than he

had thought. Now that he had no hope of seeing her there any more, he

began to realise how much these little visits of hers had meant. He

thought the matter over very carefully, realised instantly that there was nothing to be done so far as the hotel gossip was concerned, and

concluded that he had really placed the girl in a very unsatisfactory

position.

"Perhaps I had better end this little affair," he thought. "It isn't a wise thing to pursue."

On the strength of this conclusion he went to Washington and finished his term. Then he returned to Columbus to await the friendly recognition

from the President which was to send him upon some ministry abroad.

Jennie had not been forgotten in the least. The longer he stayed away the more eager he was to get back. When he was again permanently settled in

his old quarters he took up his cane one morning, and strolled out in the direction of the cottage. Arriving there, he made up his mind to go in, and knocking at the door, he was greeted by Mrs. Gerhardt and her daughter