"We've got to leave! And leave before he comes back!"
"Of course, ma'am," cried Matilda. And then: "But—but where?"
"Anywhere to get away from him!"
"But, ma'am, the money?" said Matilda who had handled Mrs. De Peyster's petty cash account for twenty years, and whose business it had been to think of petty practicalities. "We've only got twenty-three cents left, and we can't possibly get any more soon, and no one will take us in without money or baggage. Don't you see? We can't stay here, and we can't go any place else."
This certainly was a dilemma. The two gazed at each other, their faces momently growing more ghastly with helplessness. Then suddenly Mrs. De Peyster leaned forward, with desperate decision.
"Matilda, we shall go back home!"
"Go home, ma'am?" cried Matilda.
"There's nothing else we can do. I'll slip into my sitting-room, lock the door, and live there quietly—and Jack will never know I'm in the house."
"But, ma'am, won't that be dangerous?"
"Danger is comparative. Anything is better than this!"