And then he sat meditative for a while, gazing amiably about his family circle.

And it was while they were all thus sitting silent, in what in the dim light of the one shaded electric bulb might have seemed to an observer the silence of intimacy, that Jack, who had slipped cautiously downstairs, walked in, behind him Mary.
"Matilda, what's this mean ?" he demanded, with a bewildered look.
"We've been wondering why you didn't come upstairs." Mrs.De Peyster turned in her chair, and held her breath, like one beneath the guillotine.

Matilda arose, shaking.
"Who's this man, Matilda ?" Jack continued.
"He--ah--er--he's--" "And, pray, Matilda, who is this ?" politely inquired the arisen Mr.
Pyecroft, blandly assuming command of the situation.
"Who am I?
Well, you certainly have nerve--" the astounded Jack was beginning.
"He's Mr.Jack," Matilda put in.

"Jack De Peyster." "Ah, young Mr.De Peyster!" Mr.Pyecroft's eyebrows went up slightly and a shrewd light flashed into his rounded eyes and was at once gone, and again his face was blandly clerical.

"It is, indeed, a pleasure to meet you, Mr.De Peyster.