“S-s-h!  Not so loud, I beg you.  If she heard you speak of her veil, it would pain her greatly.  You see,” Mr. Pyecroft unhesitatingly went on in a low, compassionate tone, “our sister, while trying to light a gasoline stove—­It was a gasoline stove, was it not, Matilda?”

“Ah—­er—­ye-yes,” corroborated Matilda.

“A gasoline stove, yes,” continued the grave voice of Mr. Pyecroft.  “It was during the very first year after her marriage.  The explosion that followed disfigured her face frightfully.  She is extremely sensitive; so much so that she invariably wears a heavy veil when she goes out of her own house.”

“Why, how terrible!” cried Mary.

“Yes, isn’t it!  All of our family have felt for poor Angelica most deeply.  And furthermore, she is sensitive about her deafness—­which, I may add, was caused by the same accident.  And her various misfortunes have made her extremely shy, so the less attention that is paid to her, the happier the poor creature is.”

Mary withdrew among the others.  Slowly Mrs. De Peyster returned once more to life.  She hardly knew how she had escaped, save that it had been through some miracle of that awful Mr. Pyecroft’s amazing tongue.

“By the way, Matilda,” she heard Mary remark, “did you read in to-night’s papers about Mrs. De Peyster’s voyage?  You know she landed to-day.”

“No, ma’—­Mary,” said Matilda.

“The paper said she was so ill all the way across that she wasn’t able to leave her stateroom once.”  Mary’s voice was very sympathetic.  “Why, she was so ill she couldn’t leave the boat until after dark, hours after all the other passengers had gone.”

“I never knew mother to be seasick before,” said Jack, in deep concern.

Judge Harvey said nothing, but his fine, handsome face was disturbed.  Jack noted the look, and, suddenly catching the Judge’s hand, said with a burst of boyish frankness:—­

“Uncle Bob, you’re worried more than any of us!  You know I’ve always liked you like a father—­and—­and here’s hoping some day mother’ll change her mind—­and you’ll be my father in reality!”

“Thank you, Jack!” the Judge said huskily, gripping Jack’s hand.

Over in her corner, beneath her veil, Mrs. De Peyster flushed hotly.

They talked on about the distant Mrs. De Peyster, and she listened with keenest ears.  They were all so sympathetic about her—­sick—­alone—­in far-off Europe.  So sympathetic—­so very, very sympathetic!

As for Mr. Pyecroft, standing on guard beside her, he looked appropriately grave.  But inside his gravity he was smiling.  These people had no guess that in a way he was connected with the great Mrs. De Peyster of whom they talked—­that “Miss Gardner” who was the companion to the ailing social leader in France was something more than just Miss Gardner.  And he felt no reason for revealing his little secret....  Clara, the dear little Puritan, would be scandalized by this his wildest escapade—­by his having used, after all and despite her prohibition, Mrs. De Peyster’s closed house as a retreat; but when she came back from Europe, and he made her see in its proper light this gorgeous and profitable lark, she would relent and forgive him.  Why, of course, she would forgive him.