Mrs. De Peyster shrank back into the cushions.  She had the presence of mind to nod her head, and William faced about.  To put it temperately, the situation was becoming very trying.  Mrs. De Peyster now realized that she had been guilty of a lack of forethought.  It had not occurred to her, in working out this plan of hers, that her frigidly proper William could entertain a friendliness toward any one.  What she should have done was to have given William a vacation and secured an entirely strange coachman for the summer who would have had no friendly sentiments to give play to.

But her desire was now all to escape from William’s amiable attentions.

“Take me home,” she said presently, muffling her voice behind her hand and veil, and withdrawing from it its accustomed tone of authority.

Half an hour later, to her great relief, the carriage turned again into Washington Square and drew up before her house.  She stepped quickly out.

“Good-night—­thank you,” she said in a smothered imitation of Matilda’s voice, and hurried up her steps.

She had unlocked the door in the boarding and had stepped into the dark entry, when she became aware that William had deserted his horses and was stepping in just behind her.  As though it were a matter of long custom, William slipped an arm about her waist and imprinted a kiss upon her veil.

Mrs. De Peyster let out a little gasping cry, and struggled to free herself.

“Don’t be scared, Matilda,” William reassured her.  “Nobody can see us in here.”  And he patted her on the shoulder with middle-aged affection.

Mrs. De Peyster, after her first outburst, realized that she dared not cry out, or rebuff William.  To do so would reveal her identity.  And horrified as she was, she realized that there must have long existed between William and Matilda a carefully concealed affair of the heart.

“It’s all right, dear,” William again reassured her, with his staid ardor.  “It’s mighty good to be with you like this, Matilda!” He heaved a love-laden sigh.  “We’ve had it mighty hard, haven’t we, with only being able to steal a minute with each other now and then—­always afraid of Mrs. De Peyster.  It’s been mighty hard for me.  Hasn’t it been hard for you?”

Mrs. De Peyster remained silent.

“Hasn’t it been hard for you, dear?” William insisted tenderly.

“Ye—­yes,” very huskily.

“Why, what’s the matter, Matilda?  I know; you’re tired, dear; your nerves are all worn out with the strain of getting Mrs. De Peyster off.”  Again his voice became tenderly indignant.  “Just see how she treated that Miss Gardner; and wouldn’t she have done the same to us, if she’d found us out?  To think, dear, that but for her attitude you and me might have been married and happy!  I know you are devoted to her, and wouldn’t leave her, and I know she’s kind enough in her way, but I tell you, Matilda,”—­William’s voice, so superbly without expression when on duty, was alive with conviction,—­“I tell you, Matilda, she’s a regular female tyrant!”