er oratorical gifts, and in an unlucky moment called upon her to make a
speech.

Mrs. Honey was in the act of rising to respond, when Miss Fithian,
rudely pushing her down upon her chair, took precedence and demanded of
Mrs. Wildfen:

"You want a speech, do you? I'll make you one that will make certain
persons here tremble."

There was no doubt about that. Two of them--the conspirators--were
trembling already. They felt instinctively that the hour of trouble for
them had arrived.

"Cousin Edna," continued the spinster, "I regret the pain I feel it my
duty to inflict upon you, but that false husband of yours has again
deceived you."

Mrs. Rutherford sprang to her feet, instantly armed _cap-a-pie_ with her
never-failing jealousy: "What do you mean?" she gasped.

"Silence!" cried Rutherford in a commanding tone to Miss Fithian.

Plowden, who had been struggling with a sudden faintness, suddenly
succumbed to it and fell against his wife, who cried out in alarm, "Rob!
Rob! what's the matter?"

"I will _not_ silence, sir," retorted the old maid, "for I consider it
my duty to publicly expose and denounce you--'deaf as a post' though I
may be" (here Plowden gave such an agonized groan that his wife forcibly
poured a glass of wine down his throat, choking but reviving him), "and
'deaf as an adder,' Mr. Rutherford, I overheard you confess the foul
plot you and that monster had concocted to deceive my poor cousin, your
long-suffering, unsuspecting wife. Oh! I'm not afraid of you," she
cried, as Rutherford arose with a dangerous look in his eyes. "The girl
you placed at school was the creature of your villainy, and not
Plowden's daughter."

"What!" cried Mrs. Rutherford, as Mrs. Plowden at the same moment
exclaimed: "His daughter! Of course not. He never had a daughter. Had
you, ducky?"

"Ducky" was unable to quack a negative, or even to respond when Mr.
Rutherford in a stentorian voice called: "Give this woman the lie,
Plowden."

"And what if he should," retorted Miss Fithian; "who would believe the
word of a bigamist?"

"A bigamist!" cried a chorus of voices.

"Do you mean that my husband is a bigamist?" demanded Mrs. Plowden,
jumping to her feet, her eyes flashing.

"I do mean it. Ask him."

"Deny it, Rob, love! Mr. Plowden! Deny it, darling," urged Gertrude,
seizing his collar and giving him a shake.

The movement disturbed the doubtful balance of his limp form; he slid
from his chair and disappeared unde