He nodded reassuringly, and, not having curiosity enough to accept the other's offer and step across the road and see what he would get, shaded his eyes with his hand and looked with exaggerated anxiety up the road. Mr. Jobling, heavy of brow, returned to the parlor and looked hard at his wife.
“She's late,” said Mrs. Jobling, glancing at the clock. “I do hope she's all right, but I should feel anxious about her if she was my gal. It's a dangerous life.”
“Dangerous life!” said Mr. Jobling, roughly. “What's a dangerous life?”
“Why, hers,” replied his wife, with a nervous smile. “Joe Brown told me. He followed her 'ome last night, and this morning he found out all about her.”
The mention of Mr. Brown's name caused Mr. Jobling at first to assume an air of indifference; but curiosity overpowered him.
“What lies has he been telling?” he demanded.
“I don't think it's a lie, Bill,” said his wife, mildly. “Putting two and two—”
“What did he say?” cried Mr. Jobling, raising his voice.
“He said, 'She—she's a lady detective,'” stammered Mrs. Jobling, putting her handkerchief to her unruly mouth.
“A tec!” repeated her husband. “A lady tec?”