e.

Mrs. De Peyster quickly unlocked and opened the door. Matilda slipped
in and the door was softly closed upon her back.

"Here's some food--just what I could grab in a second--I didn't
dare take time to choose." Matilda held out a bundle wrapped in a
newspaper. "Take it, ma'am. I don't dare stay here a second."

But Mrs. De Peyster caught her arm.

"How did they take my going?"

"Mr. Jack thought home was really the best place for my sister, if she
was sick, ma'am. And Mary was awfully kind and asked me all sorts of
questions--which--which I found it awfully hard to answer, ma'am,--and
she is going to send you the book you didn't finish. And Mr. Pyecroft
got me off into a corner and said, so we'd tried to give him the slip
again."

"What is he going to do?"

"He said he was safe here, under Judge Harvey's protection. Outside
some detective might insist on arresting him, and perhaps things might
take such a turn that even Judge Harvey might not be able to help him.
So he said he was going to stay on here till things blew over. Oh,
please, ma'am, let me go, for if they were to hear me--"

A minute later the chattering Matilda was out of the room, the door
was locked, and Mrs. De Peyster was sitting in a chair with the bundle
of provisions on her exquisitely lacquered tea-table. In the newspaper
was a small loaf of bread, a tin of salmon, and a kitchen knife. That
was all. Not even butter! And, of course, no coffee--she who liked
coffee, strong, three times a day. But when was she ever again to know
the taste of coffee!

Never before had she sat face to face with such an uninteresting menu.
But she devoured it--opening the tin of salmon after great effort with
the knife--devoured it every bit. Then she noticed the newspaper in
which the provisions had been wrapped. It was part of that day's,
Sunday's, "Record," and it was the illustrated supplement. This she
unfolded, and before her eyes stood a big-lettered title, "Annual
Exodus of Society Leaders," and in the queenly place in the center of
the page was her own portrait by M. Dubois.

Her eyes wandered up to the original, which was dimly illumined by
the rays of her one candle. What poise, what breeding, what calm,
imperturbable dignity! Then her gaze came back to her be-crumbed
tea-table, with the kitchen knife and the raggedly gaping can. She
slipped rather limply down in her chair and covered her eyes.

A day passed--and another--and another. Outside M