Thought you'd gone down to the kitchen." "Why--why--if it isn't Mr.Jack!" stammered Matilda.
Mrs.De Peyster trembled.

What more likely than that Matilda, in her amazement, should reveal the house's secret?
But the half-light of the room was a very obliging ally against such unsuspicion as her son's.
"Of course, it's Jack," said he.

"Who else did you suppose it was?
But say, what's the matter, Matilda ?" "Yes, what's the matter, Matilda ?" asked Mary with great concern.
"Ma'am--ma'am"-- staring wildly at Mary--"I--I don't know, ma'am." "What, have you already forgotten what I told you about calling me Mary!" "Ma--Mary ?" gasped Matilda blankly.
"Jack," said Mary in a low voice, "I said awhile ago that she seemed queer." "Where have you put your head, Matilda?
Yes--Mary!--Mary!--Mary! Mary De Peyster--Mrs.Jack De Peyster--my wedded wife--whom it cost me four thirty-nine to make my own.

Understand ?" "P-per-perfectly, Mr.Jack." "Well, that's happy news.

What's that you're carrying ?" "It's--ah--er--my breakfast," explained Matilda.
"Your breakfast!" exclaimed Jack.