rson.

Mrs. De Peyster remained silent.

"Why, you don't seem at all sympathetic, Matilda!"

Mrs. De Peyster put a hand to her lips. "I'm--I'm very sorry, ma'am,"
she mumbled between her fingers, trying to assume Matilda's humility.

"Why, what's the matter with your voice? It seems husky."

"It's just"--Mrs. De Peyster swallowed--a little summer cold I caught
to-day. It's--it's nothing, ma'am."

"I'm sorry!" exclaimed the little person. "But, Matilda, how many more
times have I got to tell you I don't like your 'ma'aming' me. Call me
Mary."

"Very well--Mary."

"That's right. And now, as to Jack's mother; the paper says society is
very much concerned over her condition."

On the whole, Mrs. De Peyster's concern over her condition was rather
more acute than society's. But she had begun to recover in a degree,
and was now, though palpitant within, making a furtive study of Mary.
Such light as there was fell full upon that small person. Mrs. De
Peyster saw a dark, piquant face, with features not regular, but ever
in motion and quick with expression--eyes of a deep, deep brown, with
a glimmer of red in them, eyes that gave out an ever-changing sparkle
of sympathy and mischief and intelligence--and a mass of soft dark
hair, most unstylishly, most charmingly arranged, that caught some of
the muffled light and softly glowed with a reddish tone. If there was
anything vulgar, or commonplace, about Jack's wife, the shaded bulb
was too kindly disposed to betray it to Mrs. De Peyster's scrutiny.

Suddenly Mary laughed--softly, musically.

"If Jack's mother ever dreamed what Jack and I are doing here! Oh--oh!
Some day, after she's forgiven us--if ever she does forgive us--You've
said you're sure she'll forgive us, Matilda; do you honestly, truly,
cross-your-heartly, believe she will?"

"Y-e-s," said Mrs. De Peyster's numb lips.

"I do hope so, for Jack's sake!" sighed the little person. "After she
forgives us, I'm going to 'fess up everything. Of course she'll be
scandalized--for what we're doing is simply awful!--but all the same
I'll tell her. And after she's forgiven us, I'll make her forgive you,
too, Matilda, for your part in harboring us here. We'll see that you
do not suffer."

Mrs. De Peyster realized that she should have expressed thanks at this
point. But silence she considered better than valor.

"This paper prints that picture of her by M. Dubois again. Really,
Matilda, is she as terribly dignified as