t reply.

He stood up, smiling again. "I won't argue with you; it's bigger than
anything you ever pulled off--so big, I guess it stuns you; I'll just
let the matter soak in, and put up its own argument. You'll come in,
all right," he continued confidently, "for you need money, and I'm the
party that can supply you. And to make certain that you don't get the
money elsewhere, I'll just take along this vault of the First National
Bank as security"--with which he slipped Mrs. De Peyster's pearl
pendant into his pocket. "Now, think the matter over, girls. I'll be
back in half an hour. So-long for the present."

The door closed behind him.

Mrs. De Peyster gazed wildly after him. The plan "soaked in," as
he had said it would; and as it soaked in, her horror grew. She saw
herself becoming involved, helpless to prevent it, in the plan Mr.
Pyecroft considered so delectable; she saw herself later publicly
exposed as engaged in this scheme to defraud herself; she could hear
all New York laughing. Her whole being shivered and gasped. Of all the
plans ever proposed to a woman--!

And all the weeks and months this Mr. Pyecroft would be hovering about
her!...

Despairingly she sat upright.

"Matilda, we can't stay in the same house with that man."

"Oh, ma'am," breathed the appalled Matilda, "of course not!"

"We've got to leave! And leave before he comes back!"

"Of course, ma'am," cried Matilda. And then: "But--but where?"

"Anywhere to get away from him!"

"But, ma'am, the money?" said Matilda who had handled Mrs. De
Peyster's petty cash account for twenty years, and whose business
it had been to think of petty practicalities. "We've only got
twenty-three cents left, and we can't possibly get any more soon, and
no one will take us in without money or baggage. Don't you see? We
can't stay here, and we can't go any place else."

This certainly was a dilemma. The two gazed at each other, their faces
momently growing more ghastly with helplessness. Then suddenly Mrs. De
Peyster leaned forward, with desperate decision.

"Matilda, we shall go back home!"

"Go home, ma'am?" cried Matilda.

"There's nothing else we can do. I'll slip into my sitting-room, lock
the door, and live there quietly--and Jack will never know I'm in the
house."

"But, ma'am, won't that be dangerous?"

"Danger is comparative. Anything is better than this!"

"Just as you say; I suppose you're right, ma'am." And then with an
hysterical snuffle: