No. 13 Washington Square Part 17

"Yes, all three of us," agreed Mary.

Jack picked up his bag. Frantically Mrs. De Peyster tried to think of some way of holding him back from a possible d.a.m.natory encounter with Matilda upon the stairway. But she could think of nothing. Jack went out.

Mary ordered Mrs. De Peyster into a chair, and sat down facing her.

Mrs. De Peyster strained her ears for the surprised voices that would announce the disastrous meeting. But there sounded from above no startled cries. Jack must have got to his room, unnoticed by Matilda.

Mrs. De Peyster breathed just a little easier. The evil moment was put off.

"Matilda," began Mary, "I want you to tell me the honest truth about something. I think Jack's been trying to deceive me. To make me feel better, the dear boy, he's been telling me there'd not be the least doubt about his mother being reconciled to our marriage. Do you think she ever will be?"

"Well--well--"

"Please! Will she, or won't she?"

"You can only--only hope--for the best."

"I hope she will, for Jack's sake!" sighed Mary deeply. She picked up an evening paper Jack had brought in. "Did you know his mother was very ill at the time she sailed? This paper says she was so sick that she was unable to see a single one of her friends who came to see her off. That was too bad, wasn't it!" There was a great deal of genuine feeling in the voice of the small person.

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 a.s.sume 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 ma.s.s of soft dark hair, most unstylishly, most charmingly arranged, that caught some of the m.u.f.fled 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 that makes her look?"

Mrs. De Peyster had to speak. "I--I--hardly, ma'am."

"There you go with that 'ma'am' again!"

"Hardly, Mary," mumbled Mrs. De Peyster.

"Because if she looks anything like that picture, it must simply scare you to death to live with her. Did she ever bend her back?"

Silence.

"Or smile?"

Silence.

"Or forget that she was a De Peyster?"

Silence.

"The lady of that picture never did!" declared the little person with conviction. "She's just dignity and pride--calm, remote, lofty, icebergy pride. She can say her ancestors backwards. Why, she's her family tree, petrified!"

Mrs. De Peyster did not feel called upon to add to these remarks.

"I don't see how she can possibly like me!" cried the little person.

"Do you, Matilda?"

"I suppose--you can--only wait--and see," replied Mrs. De Peyster.

"I haven't got any dignity, or any money, or any ancestors; only a father and a couple of grandfathers--though I dare say there were some Morgans before them. No, she'll never care for me--never!" wailed the little person. "She couldn't! Why, she's carved out of a solid block of dignity! She never did an un-De-Peyster thing in her life!"

Mrs. De Peyster felt herself choking. She had to get out of the room, or die.

Just then Jack walked back in. For a few moments she had forgotten Jack. The terror arising from the menace upstairs returned to her.

But Jack's happy face was a.s.surance that as yet he knew nothing of the second Matilda.

Yes, she had to get out, or die. And Jack's reappearance gave her frantic mind a cue for an unbetraying exit.

"I'll go to the kitchen--and start supper," she gulped, and hurried into the butler's pantry.

"Jack," she heard Mary's perplexed voice, "Matilda, somehow, seems rather queer to me."

"She doesn't seem quite herself," agreed Jack.

Mrs. De Peyster sank into a chair beside the door, and sat there motionless, hardly daring to breathe--shattered by the narrowness of her escape, and appalled by this new situation that had risen around her--too appalled even to consider what might be the situation's natural developments. Soon amid the wild churning of various emotions, anger began to rise, and outraged pride. Such cool, dumbfounding impudence!

Then curiosity began to stir. Instinct warned her, incoherently, for all her faculties were too demoralized to be articulate, that this was no place for her. But those two persons in there--her son, and this daughter-in-law who had burst out of a fair cloud upon her--a daughter-in-law whom she would never recognize--what were they doing?

Cautiously, ever so cautiously, she pushed open the pantry door till there was a slight crack giving into the other room.