ing thought shot through her. She could not discharge
William!

She could not discharge William, because she was not there to
discharge him! She was upon the Atlantic highroad, speeding for
Europe, and would not be home for many a month! And during all those
months, whenever she dared appear, she would be subject to William's
loverly attention!

She sat rigid with the horror of this new development. But she had not
yet had time to realize its full possibilities--for hardly a minute
had passed since she had entered--when she heard a key slide into
the lock of the front door and saw a vague figure enter the unlighted
hall. She arose in added terror. Had that William come back to--

"Oh, there you are, Matilda," softly called a voice, and the vague
figure came toward her.

Mrs. De Peyster's terror took suddenly a new turn. For the voice was
not the voice of her coachman.

"J-a-c-k!" she breathed wildly.

Jack threw an arm about Mrs. De Peyster's shoulders.

"Ho, ho, that's the time I caught you, Matilda," said he, in teasing
reproof. "U'm, I saw those tender little love passages between you and
William!"

Mrs. De Peyster stood a pillar of ice.

"Better not let mother find it out," he advised. "If she got on to
this! But I'll never tell on you, Matilda." He patted her shoulder
assuringly. "So don't worry."

Mrs. De Peyster's lips opened. If her voice sounded unlike Matilda's
voice, the difference was unconsciously attributed by Jack to
agitation due to his discovery.

"How--how do you come here?" she asked.

"With an almighty lot of trouble!" grumbled he. "Came around the
corner an hour ago just in time to see you drive off with William.
I've got a key to the inside door, but none to the door in the
boarding; and as I knew there was nobody in the house I could rouse
up, there was nothing for it but to wait till you and William came
back. So we've been sitting out there on a park bench ever since."

There was one particular word of Jack's explanation that drummed
against Mrs. De Peyster's ear.

"We?" she ejaculated. "We?" Then she noticed that another shadowy
figure had drawn nearer in the dark. "Who--who's that?"

"Mary," was Jack's prompt and joyous answer.

"Mary! Not that--that Mary Morgan?"

"She used to be. She's Mary de Peyster now."

"You're not--not married?"

"To-day," he cried in exultation. "We slipped out to Stamford;
everything was done secretly there, and it's to be kept strictly on