Kensington turned deadly pale at this insult, and his fists clinched—
“What do you mean?” he said huskily.
“I mean what I say. Why don’t you take your own wife walking on the deck, and leave the young ladies alone. It’s none of your business with whom they walk.”
Kensington seemed about to reply; but he thought better of it, turned on his heel, and left Montague standing there.
The old Tub worried her way across the ocean, and reached the bar at Liverpool just in time to be too late to cross it that night. Word was passed along that a tender would come out from Liverpool for us, which was not a very cheering prospect, as we would have two hours’ sail at least in what was practically an open boat.
Finally the tender came alongside, and the baggage was dumped down upon it. All of us gathered together ready to leave The Tub. Mr. Kensington, with his closely-veiled wife hanging on his arm, was receiving the thanks and congratulations of the “dragon.” The fifteen girls were all around her. Before any one started down the sloping gangway plank, however, two policemen, accompanied by a woman, hurried up on board The Tub.
“Now, madam,” said the policeman, “is he here?”
We saw that trouble was coming, and everybody looked at everybody else.
“Is he here?” cried the woman excitedly; “there he stands, the villain. Oh, you villain, you scoundrel, you mean rascal, to leave me, as you thought, penniless in New York, and desert your own wife and family for that—that creature!” We all looked at Kensington, and his face was greenish-pale. The heavily veiled woman shrunk behind him and the policeman tried to make the true wife keep quiet.
“Is your name Braughton?”