Archibald’s sister seemed indifferent to this praise of her brother.  At least she said nothing.  So Mary took up “Wormwood” and half-shouted another installment.

The spirits of Jack and Mary, which during the previous evening and the earlier part of this morning had been subdued by concern over the illness of the distant Mrs. De Peyster, had, an hour before Mary’s second visit, become suddenly hilarious.  While Mary read, Mrs. De Peyster wondered over this change.  When the book was closed upon the installment, she hesitatingly asked concerning this mystery.

“It’s news about Mrs. De Peyster,” answered Mary.  “But of course it could hardly interest you much, for you’ve never met her—­at least I supposed not, Angelica.”

“I’ve—­seen her,” corrected Angelica.  “What—­what news?”

“Why,” cried Mary in her soft, happy contralto, “Judge Harvey just telephoned that the latest papers contain cables saying that Mrs. De Peyster has just left Paris on that long motor trip of hers to the Balkans.  That means that Jack’s mother must be quite well again.  We all feel so relieved—­so very, very relieved!”

Mrs. De Peyster also felt relief—­and some badly needed courage flowed into her.  Olivetta’s part of the plan, at least, was working out as per schedule.

Finally Mary went, Matilda brought in her lunch, and the afternoon began to wear itself away, Mrs. De Peyster keeping most of the time to the hard, narrow bed of the second maid.  Twice, however, she got up while Matilda guarded her door, stood at her high, cell-like window, and peered through the slats of the closed shutter, past the purple-and-lavender plumes of the wistaria that climbed on up to the roof, and out upon the soft, green, sunny spaces of Washington Square.  The Square, which she had been proud to live upon but rarely walked in,—­only children and nursemaids and the commoner people actually walked in it,—­the Square looked so expansive, so free, so inviting.  And this tiny cell—­these days of early May were unseasonably, hot—­seemed to grow more narrow and more stifling every moment.  How had any one ever, ever voluntarily endured it!

Mrs. De Peyster learned that Jack was studying at home, and studying hard.  With the return of Matilda to the house, Jack repeated his instruction concerning the piano:  Matilda was to tell any inquisitive folk that Mrs. De Peyster had bought a player-piano shortly before she sailed, and that she, Matilda, was operating it to while away the tedious hours.  This device made it possible for Mary to begin her neglected practice.

With the certainty of being bored, yet with an irrepressible curiosity, Mrs. De Peyster, piano-lover, awaited during the morning and early forenoon Mary’s first assault upon the instrument.  She would be crude, no doubt of it; no technique, no poetic suavity of touch, no sense of interpretation.