“Truly?”
“Truly. To bed!”
IX
AT TEN IN THE MORNING
Until ten o’clock the next morning, at which hour he rose and confided it to his shaving-mirror, John Rem had enjoyed the happiest day of his life. But at precisely that hour he heard his name called out by a newsboy on the street. In a moment more not only his name, but his picture, was before him in the newspaper he had bought. And beside his own was the name and a fair sketch of Miss Estover, Quaker.
In fact, it was all known, and, with marvellous guesses, where fact had failed, it had been printed. It was a piquant story, and so it had the place of honor on the first page and the blackest “heads.” The incident behind the jasmines when he had lifted her mask was given a hideous prominence, and the reporter confessed that it was this “happy accident” which disclosed identities to him, out for a story. The unusual circumstance of a dancing Quaker would have been a sufficient story. But in following the charming Quaker costume for character matter he had been presented with a sight of their unmasked faces, and the sound of a kiss.
The final witticism of the jolly reporter was that the pretty Quaker would undoubtedly be called before the annual meeting, then but three days off, to be dealt with according to her deserts. What these might be he had gathered from several representative Quakers, who made them briefly but sufficiently terrible.
Doctor Rem did not shave that day. For after he had read the part of the paper which he and the Quaker lady occupied, he received a telegram from Mrs. Jarn.
“She is still here. She dare not go home. You have broken her heart. Come at once to consult with me. You are a brute!”
X
BY THE RIGHT OF A HUSBAND
Now, when the Great Meeting came, everything happened precisely as the jolly reporter had foretold—and more. The trembling sinner was arraigned and put upon her defence.