“Wait, Clara.”  He caught her hand as she turned to go, and spoke rapidly.  “I don’t think I’m so bad as you think I am—­honest.  You may change your mind; I hope you do, dear; and if you do, write me, ’phone me, telegraph me, cable me, wireless me.  But, of course, not to me direct; the police, you know.  Address me in care of the Reverend Mr. Pyecroft.”  Tense though the moment was to him, the young man could not restrain his odd whimsical smile.  “The Reverend Mr. Pyecroft has taken an interest in me; like you he is trying to make me a better man.  He’ll see that I get your message.  Herbert E. Pyecroft—­P-y-e-c-r-o-f-t—­remember his name.  Here’s a card of the boarding-house at which he is staying.”  He thrust the bit of pasteboard into her free hand.  “Remember, dear, I really am your husband.”

With an outraged gesture she flung the card to the floor.  “There’ll be no message!” Her voice was raised; she trembled in fierce humiliation, and in scorn of him.  “You ... my husband!”

“Yes, your husband!” he said firmly.  “And I’m going to make you love me!”

It was at just this moment that Mrs. De Peyster, ascending from her scene with the reporters, was passing without, and it was these last words that she overheard.  And it was at just this moment that her knock sounded upon the door.

“Quick, you mustn’t be seen here!” breathed Miss Gardner.  “The French windows there, and out the back way through the stable!”

With a cat’s silent swiftness he was at the windows, Miss Gardner beside him.  But in the back-yard stood William, the coachman, sunning himself.  That way was closed.

“Into the study,” whispered Miss Gardner, pointing at a door, “and watch your chance to get out!”

In the same instant the heavy sound-proof mahogany door closed softly behind him—­leaving Miss Gardner in the middle of the room, with heightened color, breathing rapidly.  Into the library swept Mrs. De Peyster, followed by Olivetta and Matilda.

There was a lofty sternness in Mrs. De Peyster’s manner.  “Miss Gardner, I believe I heard you speaking with a man.”

“You did.”  Miss Gardner was stiff, proudly erect, for she sensed what might be coming.

“Where is he?”

“He went out through the window,” said Miss Gardner.

“Ah, he did not want me to find out about you.  But by chance I overheard him say he was your husband.”

“He is.”  Then with an effort:  “But husband or no husband, Mrs. De Peyster, I believe I would be of equal value—­”

“I desire no scene, no argument,” interrupted Mrs. De Peyster, dignified, not a strident note in her voice—­for she never lost her self-possession or the true grand manner.  “I believe you will remember, Miss Gardner, that when you applied for your present position two months ago, I told you that I made it a rule to have no servants or employees of any kind who were married.  As I desired that you should understand my reasons, I informed you that I had once had a cook and a footman who were married, and who paid so much attention to one another that they had time to pay no attention to me.  I then asked you if you were married.  You informed me you were not.”