The Master of the Ceremonies is Stung.
Josiah Barclay was in his business room when his wife returned, panting and wiping her eyes, and he gave her one of his grim looks.
“Well, old woman, I was right, wasn’t I?”
“No, Jo-si-ah.”
“Then you didn’t get it all out of her?”
“Oh, yes, everything, dear. She told me all, and it is that wicked—wicked little woman, May.”
She told him all that had passed, and he stood and stared at her, blowing out his cheeks, and then looking his hardest.
“Let me see,” he said, when she had done speaking. “May Burnett is, of course, my own child by my first wife.”
“Jo-si-ah! Why, you never had no first wife.”
“Nonsense, woman.”