Good-night." Jack turned his back; and Mary, whose heart went out to all lovers, delicately turned hers.
"William," fluttered Matilda, taking an eager, hesitating step toward him.
He stared at her haughtily--as haughtily as is in the power of a mere mortal who has no collar on.
"William," she cried bewildered, "what is it ?" "I believe you know what it is, Miss Simpson," he replied witheringly, and stalked out under full majesty.
She stood dumbfounded; but only for a moment.
"Matilda," spoke up Jack, "have you got supper things started yet in the kitchen ?" "Er--er--what ?" stammered poor Matilda.
"Say, see here--what the dickens _is_ the matter with you ?" Jack exploded in exasperation.

"You just promised to start supper in the kitchen, and now--" "Of course--of course," gulped Matilda, "I forgot.

I'll do it right away." Matilda was reeling.

But she perceived that here was her chance to get out of the room--and for the moment that was her supreme and only desire.

She started for the door of the butler's pantry.
"We'll be down with you in about five minutes," Jack called after her.
In the darkness of the pantry a hand fell upon her arm.