No. 13 Washington Square | Page 5

will you leave this house instantly!"
"Ah, Miss Quintard's mother would not deny it either," commented Mr.
Mayfair with his polite imperturbability. His sharp eyes glinted with
satisfaction. Young Mr. Mayfair admired himself as being something
of the human dynamo. Also it was his private opinion that he was of
the order of the super-reporter; nothing ever "got by him." "And so," he
went on without a pause, "since the engagement is not denied, I
suppose we may take it as a fact. And now"--again with his swift
change of base--"may I ask, as a parting word before you sail, whether
it is your intention next season to contest with Mrs. Allistair--"
"I have nothing whatever to say!"
"Quite naturally you'd prefer not to say anything," appeasingly
continued the high-geared Mr. Mayfair, "but of course you are going to

fight her." Again his sharp, unfoilable eyes glinted. "'Duel for social
leadership'--pardon me for speaking of it as such, but that's what it is;
and most interesting, I assure you; and I, for one, trust that you will
retain your supremacy, for I know--_I know_," he repeated with
emphasis--"that Mrs. Allistair has used some methods not
altogether--sportsmanlike, may I say? And now"--rapidly shifting once
more--"I trust I will not seem indelicate if I inquire whether it is in the
scope of your present plans, perhaps at house-parties at the estates of
titled friends, to meet the Duke de--"
"I have nothing whatever to say!" gasped Mrs. De Peyster, glaring with
consuming fury.
"Naturally. We could hardly expect a categorical 'yes' or 'no.' We
understand that your position requires you to be non-committal; and
you, of course, understand that we newspaper men interpret a refusal to
speak as an answer in the affirmative. Thank you very much for the
interview you have given us. And I can assure you that we shall all
handle the story with the utmost good taste. Good afternoon."
He bowed. And the next moment the place where he had stood was
vacant.
"Of--of all the effrontery!" exploded Mrs. De Peyster.
"Isn't it terrible!" shudderingly gasped the sympathetic Olivetta. "I hope
they won't really drag in that horrible Duke de Crécy!"
Mrs. De Peyster shuddered, too. The episode of the Duke de Crécy was
still salt in an unhealed social wound. The Duke had been New York's
most distinguished titled visitor the previous winter; Mrs. De Peyster,
to the general envy, had led in his entertainment; there had been
whispers of another international marriage. And then, after respectful
adieus, the Duke had sailed away--and within a month the papers were
giving columns to his scandalous escapades with a sensational Spanish
dancer of parsimonious drapery. Whereupon the rumors of Mrs. De
Peyster's previously gossiped-of marriage with the now notorious Duke
were revived--by the subtle instigation, and as an act of social warfare,

so Mrs. De Peyster believed, of her aspiring rival, Mrs. Allistair. And
there was one faint rumor, still daringly breathed around, that the Duke
had proposed--had been accepted--had run away: in blunt terms, had
jilted Mrs. De Peyster.
"We will not speak of this again, Olivetta," Mrs. De Peyster remarked
with returning dignity, "but while the matter is up, I will mention that
the Duke did propose to me, and that I refused him."
With a gesture she silenced any comment from Olivetta. In a breath or
two she was entirely her usual poiseful self. Too many generations had
her blood been trained to ways of dignity, and too long had she herself
been drilled in composure and self-esteem and in a perfect confidence
in the thing that she was, for an invasion of newspaper creatures to
disturb her for longer than a few moments.
She was moving with stately tread toward the dining-room when
Matilda came hurrying up from the nether regions of the house. "Did
you know, ma'am," Matilda fluttered eagerly, "that Mr. Jack is home?"
"My son back!" There was vast relief in Mrs. De Peyster's voice.
"When did he come?"
"A few minutes ago."
"Did--did he say anything?"
"I haven't seen him, ma'am. He came in the back way, through the
stable. William told me about it."
Mrs. De Peyster's voice became composed, severe. "I shall see what he
has to say for himself." Majestically, somewhat ominously, she turned
and began to mount the stairs, followed by Olivetta and Matilda. But as
she passed the library's closed door, she heard Miss Gardner's voice and
a second voice--and the second voice was the voice of a man.
Startled, she paused. She caught a few fragments of phrases.
Indignation surged up within her. Resolutely she stepped to the door;

but by instinct she was no eavesdropper, and she would not come upon
people in compromising attitudes without giving them fair warning. So
she knocked, waited a moment--then opened