"I would never let the first marriage stand," said another.
"Don't be too hard on Regnan," spoke up one on the inside. "Remember his widow is listening."
"What think you of his case?" asked a young man of an old one.
"Well," answered the old man, "old Welby, who was a wiser man than Regnan, killed himself upon a similar occasion."
"Gentlemen," asked the woman from within, "do you think that Kitty would look well in mourning?"
The women on the outside laughed. Some of those on the inside cried aloud. Kitty buried her head in her hands.
Regnan, now understanding the state of affairs, ran into the room and cried: "My Kitty!" His breeches were wet and muddy and he had on the wet, muddy swallow-tailed coat and vest. He held the wet, bedraggled hat in one hand and the broken fiddle in the other. At his call Kitty made no motion, but kept her face hidden. The women formed a close circle around her. Those on the outside sneered: "My Kitty!" while the men yelled: "Scat, old tom, scat!" and "Is he drunk?" "Is he crazy?" "Is he going to kill Kitty?" "Help! Help! Call an officer!"
These were some of the cries that came from different parts of the room. Regnan ran around the circle, crying: "My Kitty! Am I drunk? Am I crazy? Am I going to kill you, Kitty?" Now two men seized Regnan and dragged him toward the door.
Just then the preacher entered the other door, wet and muddy from head to foot. He raised his hand, and Regnan was released. Kitty, noting the hush, peeped through her fingers, first at Regnan and then at the preacher. There was a tense silence. The preacher now spoke. He told of Regnan's trouble with the fiddle, clothes, and pond.