A woman answered impatiently: "Of course he's in; but the chances are
he's asleep." She called in a louder tone: "Jack--Jack Matthias!"
Recognizing the voice of his aunt, that person groaned aloud--"O
Lord!"--stole a glance at Joan, hesitated, shrugged, as if to say:
There's no help for it! Then he answered the door.
Helena swept in with a swirl of impatient skirts. "Good heavens!" she
cried. "What ails you, Jackie? We knocked half a dozen times. Were
you--?"
Her glance encountering Joan, the words dried on her lips.
Tankerville, at her heels, jerked a motor gauntlet from his fat hand in
order to grasp that of Matthias. "Surprised you--eh?" he
chuckled--"getting in so late. Well, it's all accidental. We were bound
home--been visiting the Hastings for a week, you know--but the car broke
down just this side of Poughkeepsie and delayed us and...."
He became distressfully aware of his wife's silence, simultaneously
ascertained the cause of it, and cut his speech short in full stride.
Matthias laughed a little, quietly: no good trying to carry off this
situation; by many a clue aside from Joan's confusion, they were
betrayed.
"You've caught us," he said cheerfully. "We may as well own up. Helena,
this is Joan--Miss Thursday--my fiancée. And Joan, this is my aunt, Mrs.
Tankerville--and her husband."
And immediately he was conscious of the necessity of bridging the pause
that would inevitably hold these three confounded, pending adjustment to
his amazing announcement.
"We had intended to keep it quiet for a while," he pursued evenly,
shutting the door.... "Helena, let me help you with that cloak.... But
since you've declared yourselves in, we can only ask you to hold your
peace until we're ready. I'm sure we can count on you both."