“Then I invite you,” she said tremulously.  “Won’t you stay, Jack?”

“And Mary?” said he.

She looked about at her dark-eyed daughter-in-law.

“If Mary will stay, too, I’ll—­I’ll try not to act like my petrified family tree.”

“What!  Was that you that day?” gasped the horrified Mary.

Mrs. De Peyster slipped her other arm about Mary, and daringly she kissed Mary’s fresh young cheek, and she drew the two tightly, almost convulsively, to her.  “Mother!” cried Jack; and the next instant the two pairs of arms were about her.  And thus they stood for several moments; until—­

“Caroline,” broke in the unsteady but determined voice of Judge Harvey, “I told you I was going to propose to you again.  And I’m going to do it right now.  Please consider yourself proposed to.”

She looked up—­shamefaced, flushing.

“What, after the foolish woman I’ve—­”

“If you were ever foolish, you were never less a fool than now!”

“I don’t know about that,” she quavered, “but anyhow I want you to straighten out my affairs—­and—­and Allistair, for all I care, can have—­can have—­for I’m all through—­”

“Caroline!”

The next moment Judge Harvey’s arms had usurped complete possession of her.  And she wilted away upon his shoulder, and sobbed there.  And thus for several moments....

They were aroused by a polite cough.  Both looked up.  Halfway to the door stood Mr. Pyecroft; and beside him was Miss Gardner, gazing at him, tremulously bewildered.

“Pardon me,” said he, in his grave manner; nothing was ever seen less suggestive of having ever smiled than his face—­“pardon me, Judge Harvey, but I believe you failed to mention at what time your office opens.”

“What time my office opens?” Judge Harvey repeated blankly.  “Why?”

“Naturally,” said Mr. Pyecroft, “I wish to know at what hour I am supposed to report for work.”

“Well—­Well—­”

But for a moment Judge Harvey could get out no more.  He just stared.

Then in a voice of dryest sarcasm:  “Would you consider it impudent on my part—­I wouldn’t be impudent for the world, you know—­to inquire what might be your real name?  I have heard you variously called Mr. Simpson, Mr. Preston, Mr. Pyecroft.  Perhaps you have a few other aliases.”

“I have had—­yes.  My real name is Eliot Endicott Bradford.  That name has the advantage of never having appeared in any complaint or police report.  For that matter, I may add that under none of my names have I ever been arrested.  Eliot Bradford is a man against whom no legal fault can be found.”

“A testimonial from you,” exclaimed the Judge—­“what could possibly be better!”

“But the hour?” gently insisted the other.

Judge Harvey stared; his eyes narrowed.  Then, suddenly—­

“Nine-thirty,” said he.

“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Bradford; and slipped a hand through Miss Gardner’s arm.