For one moment Mrs. Hornby stared wildly at her interrogator; then she snatched a paper from her purse, unfolded it, gazed at it with an expression of dismay, and crumpled it up in the palm of her hand.
"You are asked a question," said the judge.
"Oh! yes," said Mrs. Hornby. "The Committee of the Society—no, that is the wrong one—I mean Walter, you know—at least—"
"I beg your pardon," said Anstey, with polite gravity.
"You were speaking of the committee of some society," interposed the judge. "What society were you referring to?"
Mrs. Hornby spread out the paper and, after a glance at it, replied—
"The Society of Paralysed Idiots, your worship," whereat a rumble of suppressed laughter arose from the gallery.
"But what has that society to do with the 'Thumbograph'?" inquired the judge.
"Nothing, your worship. Nothing at all."
"Then why did you refer to it?"