At her crack in the pantry door, Mrs. De Peyster grew even more apprehensive.

Jack and Mary cooed; Matilda sat all of a heap; and presently William walked in.  To her other emotions, Mrs. De Peyster had added a new shock.  For William the peerless—­fit coachman for an emperor—­William, whom till that night she could not have imagined, had she imagined about such things at all, other than as sleeping in a high collar and with all his brass buttons snugly buttoned—­William was coatless, and collarless, and slouching from his mouth was an old pipe!

He came in with a haughty glower, for he had supposed the ring to be Matilda’s.  But at sight of Jack and Mary his face went blank with amazement.

“Why, why, Mr. Jack!” Hastily he jerked his pipe into his pocket and began buttoning the open collar of his shirt.  “I—­I beg pardon, sir.”

“Hello, William!  This is Mrs. Jack, William.  Just married.  We’ve come to spend the summer with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But on the quiet, William.  Understand?  If you leak a word about our being here—­well, I know about the heart-throb business between you and Matilda.  If you drop one word—­one single word, I put mother next to what’s doing between you two.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just wanted you to know we were here, William, so you wouldn’t by any chance throw a surprise that would give us away.  That’s all.  Keep mum about us”—­with a sly wink at him and another at Matilda—­“and you two can goo-goo at each other like a popular song.  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.  “Matilda,” breathed her mistress’s voice, and Matilda had enough control not to cry out, or was too far gone.  Clutching hands, they went down the winding stairs that led from the butler’s pantry to the kitchen.