“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. She made me so mad I slapped her.”
Jennie’s face grew rigid. She sat staring straight before her. Mrs. Ballinger had called, and Jennie had thought her peculiarly gracious and helpful in her offer of assistance, and now her little daughter had said this to Vesta. Where did the child hear it?
“You mustn’t pay any attention to her, dearie,” said Jennie at last. “She doesn’t know. Your papa was Mr. Stover, and you were born in Columbus. You mustn’t fight other little girls. Of course they say nasty things when they fight—sometimes things they don’t really mean. Just let her alone and don’t go near her any more. Then she won’t say anything to you.”