Matilda, pressing through them, glared at these invaders in helpless wrath, then at her mistress in guilty terror.
"I—I did my best, ma'am. But they wouldn't go." And before punishment could fall she discreetly fled.
"Pardon this seeming intrusion, Mrs. De Peyster," the foremost young man said rapidly, smoothly, appeasingly. "But we could not go, as you requested. The sailing of Mrs. De Peyster, under the attendant circumstances, is a piece of news of first importance; in fact, almost a national event. We simply had to see you. I trust you perceive and appreciate our professional predicament."
Mrs. De Peyster was glaring at him with devastating majesty.
"This—this is an outrage!"
"Perhaps it may seem an outrage to you," said the young man swiftly, politely, and thoroughly undevastated. "But, really, it is only our duty. Our duty to our papers, and to the great reading public. And when newspaper men are doing their duty they must necessarily fail, to their great personal regret, in the observance of some of the nicer courtesies."
Mrs. De Peyster was almost inarticulate.
"Who—who are you?"
"Mayfair is my name. Of the 'Record.'"