"Let me see the woman who has stolen my husband's affections," she said.
The cloaked gentleman interposed between her and Julia,—
"Softly, my good lady; this poor child must not be disgraced;" and, turning to Julia, he whispered: "Hide your face with your 'kerchief, and hurry from the room. There is a carriage at the door; it will bear you home. Away now!"
"The nephew" did not need a second invitation. Hands over her face, she glided from the room.
Bulgin now found himself in this position:—behind him, Watkins, Burns and Potts; on his right, the cloaked gentleman; on his left, his weeping wife, with her baby; in front, the burly form of his father-in-law, who, clad in the easy costume of a country gentleman, seemed too full of wrath to trust himself with words.
"Oh! husband, how could you—" began the wife.
"Is that your wife, sir?" thundered the father-in-law. "Answer me! Is that your wife?"
"It is," answered Bulgin, retreating a step. "Allow me to explain,—"
"Is that your child, sir?" thundered the enraged old gentleman. "Answer me! Is that your child?"
"It—is—" and Bulgin retreated another step.