hough, of course, there
was a universe of difference in how those two figures were carried.

Matilda, the competent, skilled Matilda, was inexplicably incompetent
at this function. So clumsy, so nervous was she, that Mrs. De Peyster
was moved to ask with a little irritation what was the matter. Matilda
hastily assured her mistress that there was nothing--nothing at
all;--and buttoned a few more buttonholes over the wrong buttons. As
she followed the fully garbed and thickly veiled Mrs. De Peyster, now
looking the most stately of stately housekeepers, down the stairway,
her nervousness increased.

"I wish--I wish--" she began at the door. "What _is_ the matter with
you, Matilda?" demanded Mrs. De Peyster severely.

"I--I rather wish you--you wouldn't go out, ma'am."

"You are afraid I may be recognized?"

"No, I wasn't thinking of that, ma'am. I--I--"

"What else is there to be afraid of?"

"Nothing, ma'am, nothing. But I wish--"

"I am going, Matilda; we will not discuss it," said Mrs. De Peyster,
in a peremptory tone intended to silence Matilda. "You may first clear
away the dishes," she ordered. "But I believe I left a squab and some
asparagus. You might put them, and any other little thing you have, on
the dining-room table; I shall probably be hungry on my return from my
drive. And then put my rooms in order. I believe the tea-tray is still
in my sitting-room; don't forget to bring it down."

"Certainly, ma'am. But--but--" "Matilda"--very severely--"are you
going to do as I bid you?"

"Yes, ma'am,"--very humbly. "But excuse me for presuming to advise
you, ma'am, but if you want to pass for me you must remember to be
very humble and--"

"I believe I know how to play my part," Mrs. De Peyster interrupted
with dignity. Then she softened; it was her instinct to be thoughtful
of those who served her. "We shall both try to get to bed early, my
dear. You especially need sleep after last night's strain in getting
Olivetta away. We shall have a long, restful night."

Mrs. De Peyster opened the door, unlocked the door in the boarding and
locked it behind her, and stepped into her brougham, which had been
ordered and was waiting at the curb. "Up Fifth Avenue and into the
Park, William," she said. She settled back into the courtly embrace of
the cushions; she breathed deep of the freedom of the soft May night.
The carriage turned northward into the Avenue. Rolling along in such
soothing ease--a crowd streaming on