uld smile, William in whose
thoroughly ironed dignity she had never before detected a wrinkle!

Just as she had re-composed herself, they rolled into another
unpeopled stretch of the drive. Again William's vertebrae performed a
semicircle and again William smiled.

"Fine night, Matilda," he remarked in a pleasant voice.

Mrs. De Peyster shrank back into the cushions. She had the presence of
mind to nod her head, and William faced about. To put it temperately,
the situation was becoming very trying. Mrs. De Peyster now realized
that she had been guilty of a lack of forethought. It had not occurred
to her, in working out this plan of hers, that her frigidly proper
William could entertain a friendliness toward any one. What she should
have done was to have given William a vacation and secured an entirely
strange coachman for the summer who would have had no friendly
sentiments to give play to.

But her desire was now all to escape from William's amiable
attentions.

"Take me home," she said presently, muffling her voice behind her hand
and veil, and withdrawing from it its accustomed tone of authority.

Half an hour later, to her great relief, the carriage turned again
into Washington Square and drew up before her house. She stepped
quickly out.

"Good-night--thank you," she said in a smothered imitation of
Matilda's voice, and hurried up her steps.

She had unlocked the door in the boarding and had stepped into the
dark entry, when she became aware that William had deserted his horses
and was stepping in just behind her. As though it were a matter of
long custom, William slipped an arm about her waist and imprinted a
kiss upon her veil.

Mrs. De Peyster let out a little gasping cry, and struggled to free
herself.

"Don't be scared, Matilda," William reassured her. "Nobody can see
us in here." And he patted her on the shoulder with middle-aged
affection.

Mrs. De Peyster, after her first outburst, realized that she dared not
cry out, or rebuff William. To do so would reveal her identity. And
horrified as she was, she realized that there must have long existed
between William and Matilda a carefully concealed affair of the heart.

"It's all right, dear," William again reassured her, with his staid
ardor. "It's mighty good to be with you like this, Matilda!" He heaved
a love-laden sigh. "We've had it mighty hard, haven't we, with only
being able to steal a minute with each other now and then--always
afraid o