"We?" she ejaculated. "We?" Then she noticed that another shadowy figure had drawn nearer in the dark. "Who—who's that?"
"Mary," was Jack's prompt and joyous answer.
"Mary! Not that—that Mary Morgan?"
"She used to be. She's Mary de Peyster now."
"You're not—not married?"
"To-day," he cried in exultation. "We slipped out to Stamford; everything was done secretly there, and it's to be kept strictly on the quiet for a time." He bent down close to Mrs. De Peyster's ear. "Don't let Mary know how mother objected to her; I have n't told her, and she doesn't guess it. And oh, Matilda," he bubbled out enthusiastically, "she's the kind of a little sport that will stick by a chap through anything, and she's clever and full of fun, and a regular little dear!"
He turned. "Come here, Mary," he called softly. "This is Matilda."
The next instant a slight figure threw its arms about Mrs. De Peyster and kissed her warmly.
"I'm so glad to meet you at last, Matilda!" exclaimed a low, clear voice. "Jack has told me how good you have been to him ever since he was a baby. I know we shall be the very, very best of friends!"