"By the way, Matilda, about the row Mary'll be making on the piano. Couldn't you just casually mention to anybody you see that mother had bought one of these sixty-horse-power, steam-hammer piano-players and you were the engineer, running it a lot to while away the lonesome months?"
"Do you want to intimate, sir," demanded Mary with mock hauteur, "that my playing sounds like a—"
"What I want to intimate, madam, is that I'd like to avoid having our happy home raided by the police. Matilda, you could do that, couldn't you—just casually?"
"Yes—M—Mr. Jack," mumbled Mrs. De Peyster.
"There, everything's settled. We'll go up to our rooms. You wouldn't mind helping us a bit, Matilda?"
Mrs. De Peyster had one supreme thought. If they went upstairs, they might run into the other Matilda. The frantic, drowning impulse to put off disaster every possible moment caused her to clutch Jack's arm.
"There's—something to eat—in the dining-room. Perhaps you'd like—"
"Great idea, Matilda! Lead on."
Mrs. De Peyster gave thanks that all the lights but one had been switched off. And fortunately the light from that one shaded bulb was almost lost in the great dining-room. Subconsciously Mrs. De Peyster recalled Matilda's injunction to "be humble," and she let her manner slump—though at that moment she had no particular excess of dignity to discard.