At last leaving the Bible open, Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and
as she opened the door of her sitting-room Daisy came towards her
stepmother.

"I'll go down and start getting the lodger's supper ready for you,"
said the girl good-naturedly. "He's certain to come in when he gets
hungry. But he did look upset, didn't he, Ellen? Right down bad--
that he did!"

Mrs. Bunting made no answer; she simply stepped aside to allow Daisy
to go down.

"Mr. Sleuth won't never come back no more," she said sombrely, and
then she felt both glad and angry at the extraordinary change which
came over her husband's face. Yet, perversely, that look of relief,
of right-down joy, chiefly angered her, and tempted her to add,
"That's to say, I don't suppose he will."

And Bunting's face altered again; the old, anxious, depressed look,
the look it had worn the last few days, returned.

"What makes you think he mayn't come back?" he muttered.

"Too long to tell you now," she said. "Wait till the child's gone
to bed."

And Bunting had to restrain his curiosity.

And then, when at last Daisy had gone off to the back room where