ted indignity, and second to prevent their being
once more turned away as servants. But something kept her still. And
perhaps it was just as well. Mrs. Gilbert, considering the two,
did have a moment's thought about refusing them; she, too, liked to
maintain the social tone of her establishment, and certainly servants
as guests did not help; but then the arid season for boarding-houses
was at hand, and she was not one to sacrifice real money to mere
principle.

"How long do you want to stay?"

"We don't know yet. Per--perhaps several months."

This was agreeable news to Mrs. Gilbert. But it was not boarding-house
policy to show it.

"When would you want to come in?"

"Now."

"To-night!" The penciled eyebrows lifted in surprise. "And your
baggage?"

"We came to New York without any," Matilda lied desperately.
"We're--we're going to buy some things here."

"Naturally, then, you expect to pay in advance."

"Ah--er--at least a deposit."

"One room or two?"

"One." One would come cheaper.

"Excuse me, Mr. Pyecroft," she called again to the clergyman. "This
way." And she collected her silken skirt, and swished up two flights
of stairs and into a bedroom at the back, where she turned on the
light. "A very comfortable room," she went on in the voice of a tired
and very superior auctioneer. "Just vacated by a Wall Street broker
and his wife; very well-connected people. Bed and couch; easy-chairs;
running hot and cold water. And for it I'm making a special summer
rate, with board, of only twenty-five dollars a week for two."

"We'll take it," said Matilda.

"Very well. Now the deposit--how much can you pay?"

"Ah--er--say fifteen dollars?"

Mrs. Gilbert's hands that tried to seem indifferent to money and that
yet were remarkably prompt, took the bills Matilda held out and thrust
them into the folds of her voluminous gown.

"Thank you. Breakfast Sunday mornings from eight to ten. Good-night."
And with that her large pink-tinted ladyship made a rustling exit.

Mrs. De Peyster sank overcome into a chair, drew up her veil, and
gazed about her. The other of Mrs. Gilbert's "easy"-chairs had a
seat of faded and frayed cotton tapestry; there was a lumpy and
unstable-looking couch; a yellow washstand with dandruffy varnish
and cracked mirror; wall-paper with vast, uncataloguable flowers
gangrenous in suggestion; on the ceiling a circle of over-plump
dancing Cupids; and over against one wall a huge, broad, dark box