"And while you soothed my poor old husband, on that doctrinal point; you,—you," sobbed Julia, "told me how handsome I was, and what a shame it was for me, to be jailed up with an old man like that. Yes, you said jailed. And how it was no harm for me to love you, and that it was no harm for you to love me. And I heard you preach, and you came to the house, day after day, and,—" poor Julia could not go on for sobbing.
The three gentlemen groaned.
As for Dr. Bulgin, he calmly rose from his seat, and taking the corkscrew from the tray on the table, proceeded quietly to draw the cork of a bottle of champagne. This accomplished, he filled a long necked glass to the brim with foaming Heidsick.
"Jig's up, gentlemen," he said, bowing to the three, as he tossed off the glass, and regarded them with a smile of matchless impudence,—"Jig's up!"
"What does he mean by 'jig's up?'" asked Mr. Burns of Mr. Potts, in a very hollow voice.
"He means," returned Bulgin himself, straightening up, and rubbing his broad chest with his fat hand, "that the jig is up. You've found me out. There's no use of lying about it. And now that you have found me out,—" he paused, filled another glass, and contemplated the three, over its brim,—"allow me to ask, what do you intend to do?"
He took a sip from the glass. The three were thunderstruck.
"Cool!" exclaimed Mr. Potts, punching the toe of his boot with his cane.
"You can't expose me," continued Bulgin, as he took another sip: "that would create scandal, you know, and hurt the church more than it would me."
The rich impudence of the Doctor's look, would "have made a cat laugh."