No. 13 Washington Square | Page 4

may give the man a photograph of the picture. And as I
treat the papers without discrimination, you may give photographs to
all the reporters who wish them. But on the understanding that M.
Dubois is to have conspicuous credit."
"Very well, ma'am."
"And send all of them away."
"I'll do what I can, ma'am." And Matilda went out.
"What time does the Plutonia sail?" inquired Olivetta, with the haste of
one who is trying to get off of very thin ice.
"At one to-night. Matilda will get me a bit of dinner and I shall go
aboard right after it."

"How many times does this make that you've been over?"
"I do not know," Mrs. De Peyster answered carelessly. "Thirty or forty,
I dare say."
Olivetta's face was wistful with unenvious envy. "Oh, what a pleasure!"
"Going to Europe, Olivetta, is hardly a pleasure," corrected Mrs. De
Peyster. "It is a duty one owes one's social position."
"Yes, I know that's true with you, Cousin Caroline. But with me--what
a joy! When you took me over with you that summer, we only did the
watering-places. But now"--a note of ecstatic desire came into her
voice, and she clasped her hands--"but now, to see Paris!--the
Louvre!--the Luxembourg! It's the dream of my life!"
Mrs. De Peyster again gave her cousin a suspicious look.
"Olivetta, have you been allowing M. Dubois to pay you any more
attention?"
"No, no,--of course not," cried Olivetta, and a sudden color tinted the
too-early autumn of her cheeks. "Do you think, after what you said--"
"M. Dubois is a very good artist, but--"
"I understand, Cousin Caroline," Olivetta put in hastily. "I think too
much of your position to think of such a thing. Since you--since then--I
have not spoken to him, and have only bowed to him once."
"We will say no more about it," returned Mrs. De Peyster; and she
kissed Olivetta with her duchess-like kindness. "By the by, my dear,
your comb is on the floor."
"So it is. It's always falling out."
Olivetta picked it up, put it into place, and with nervous hands tried to
press into order loose-flying locks of her rather scanty hair.

Mrs. De Peyster arose; her worry about her missing son prompted her
to seek the relief of movement. "I think I shall take a turn about the
house to see that everything is being properly closed. Would you like to
come with me?"
Olivetta would; and, talking, they went together down the stairs. As
they neared the ground floor, Matilda's voice arose to them,
expostulating, protesting.
"What can that be about?" wondered Mrs. De Peyster, and following
the voice toward its source she stepped into her reception-room.
Instantly there sprang up and stood before her a young man with the
bland, smiling, excessively polite manner of a gentleman-brigand. And
around her crowded five or six other figures.
Matilda, pressing through them, glared at these invaders in helpless
wrath, then at her mistress in guilty terror.
"I--I did my best, ma'am. But they wouldn't go." And before
punishment could fall she discreetly fled.
"Pardon this seeming intrusion, Mrs. De Peyster," the foremost young
man said rapidly, smoothly, appeasingly. "But we could not go, as you
requested. The sailing of Mrs. De Peyster, under the attendant
circumstances, is a piece of news of first importance; in fact, almost a
national event. We simply had to see you. I trust you perceive and
appreciate our professional predicament."
Mrs. De Peyster was glaring at him with devastating majesty.
"This--this is an outrage!"
"Perhaps it may seem an outrage to you," said the young man swiftly,
politely, and thoroughly undevastated. "But, really, it is only our duty.
Our duty to our papers, and to the great reading public. And when
newspaper men are doing their duty they must necessarily fail, to their
great personal regret, in the observance of some of the nicer
courtesies."

Mrs. De Peyster was almost inarticulate.
"Who--who are you?"
"Mayfair is my name. Of the 'Record.'"
"The 'Record'! That yellow, radical paper!"
Mr. Mayfair stepped nearer. His voice sank to an easy, confidential
tone.
"You are misled by appearances, Mrs. De Peyster. Every paper has got
to have a policy; we're the common people's paper--big circulation, you
know; and we so denounce the rich on our editorial page. But as a
matter of fact we give our readers more live, entertaining, and
respectful matter about society people than any other paper in New
York. It's just what the common people love. And now"--easily shifting
his base--"about this reported engagement of your son and Miss
Quintard. As you know, it's the best 'romance in high life' story of the
season. Will you either confirm or deny the report?"
"I have nothing whatever to say," flamed out Mrs. De Peyster. "And