“And I was not, at that time.”

“Indeed!  Then you have married since.  That makes your deception all the worse.  Remember, Miss Gardner, it was on the distinct understanding that you were unmarried that I employed you.  I have no desire to pass judgment upon you.  I try to be fair and just and generous with all my employees.  If you had been what you declared yourself to be, and remained such, you could have stayed with me indefinitely.  Matilda there came to me as my son’s nurse over twenty years ago, and has been with me ever since—­happy, as she will tell you, with no desire to change her state whatever.”

“N—­no—­none—­none at all!”

Matilda hastily dropped her eyes.  Mechanically her eyes noted the rejected card Mr. Bradford had tendered Miss Gardner.  Her long habit of perfect orderliness, and perhaps the impulse to hide the slight confusion that suddenly had seized upon her, prompted her to bend over and secure this bit of litter.  She glanced at it, would have put it in the waste-basket had that receptacle not been across the room, then thrust it into the capacious slit-pocket of her black skirt.

Mrs. De Peyster continued in her tone of exact justice:  “Miss Gardner, you have the perfect right to be married or unmarried.  I have the perfect right to have the sort of employees I prefer.  But since you are not what you declared yourself to be, I no longer require your service.”

Miss Gardner bowed stiffly.

“Matilda, see that Miss Gardner is paid in full to the end of her month; and also pay her one month in advance.  And telephone about until you can find me a maid—­do not bother about the secretary part of it—­a maid who is not married, and who can come at once.  That is all.”

Matilda, still somewhat pale and agitated, started to follow out the proud Miss Gardner, who gave a swift glance at the study door—­while Mrs. De Peyster looked on with her invariable calm majesty.

CHAPTER III

MISTRESS OF HER HOUSE

But at just this moment there was a smart rap at the library door, it was partly opened, and a cheery masculine voice called out:—­

“May I come in, mother?”

“You, Jack.  You may,” was the somewhat eager response from Mrs. De Peyster.

The door swung entirely open, Miss Gardner stepped out, and there entered a young man of twenty-two or three, good-natured confidence in his manner, flawlessly dressed, with hands that were swathed in bandages.  He crossed limpingly to Mrs. De Peyster, who, her affection now under control, stood regarding him with reproving and sternly questioning eyes.

“Good-morning, mother,—­glad to get back,” he said, imprinting an undaunted kiss upon her stately cheek.

Her reply was a continuance of her reproving look.  The young man turned to Mrs. De Peyster’s faithful satellite.