"Before I can tell you, ma'am," cried the miserable Matilda, "I've got to make a confession. I've done—something awful! I've disobeyed you, ma'am! I've disobeyed and deceived you!"
"What, Matilda," said Mrs. De Peyster severely, "after the way I've trusted you for twenty years!"
"Yes, ma'am. But, I couldn't help it, ma'am! There's feelings one can't—"
"But what have you done?"
"I've—I've fallen in love, ma'am. For over a year I've been the same as engaged to William."
"William!" cried Mrs. De Peyster, sinking back from her erect, reproving posture, and recalling an unforgettable episode.
"Yes, ma'am,—to William. I'm sorry I disobeyed you, ma'am,—very sorry,—but I can't think about that now. For now," sobbed Matilda, "for now it's all off—and my heart is broke!"
"All off? Why?" breathed Mrs. De Peyster.
"That's what I can't understand, ma'am," wailed Matilda. "It's all a mystery to me. I've hardly seen William, and haven't spoken to him, since we came back, and he's acted awfully queer to me. I—I couldn't stand it any longer, and this evening I went out to the stable to see him. He was as stiff, and as polite, and as mad as—oh, William was never like that to me before, ma'am! I asked him what was the matter. 'All right, if you want to break off, I'm willing!' he said in, oh, such a hard voice. 'But, William,' I said, beginning to cry, 'but, William, what have I ever done to you?' 'You know what you've done!' he said."
"Oh!" breathed Mrs. De Peyster.