Jack sighted the food Matilda had left upon the table. With a swoop he was upon it.
"Oh, joy! Squabs! Asparagus!" And he seized a squab by the legs, with a hand that was still bandaged. "Here you are, my dear," tearing off a leg and handing it to Mary, who accepted it gingerly. With much gusto Jack took a bite of bird and a huge bite of bread. "Great little wedding supper, Matilda! Thanks. But I say, Matilda, you haven't yet spoken up about meine liebe Frau. Don't you think she'll do?"
"Now, Jack dear, don't be a fool!"
"Mrs. Jack de Peyster, I'll have you understand your husband can't be a fool! Come now, Matilda,—my bonny bride, look at her. Better lift your veil."
Mrs. De Peyster did not lift her veil. But helplessly she gave a glance toward this new wife Jack had thus brought home: a glance so distracted that it could see nothing but vibrating blurs.
"Well? Well?" prompted Jack. "Won't she do?"
"Yes," in a husky whisper.
"And don't you think, when mother sees her, she'll say the same?"
"I'm sure—I'm sure—" her choking voice could get out no more.