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32 “There's nothing wrong in the city, dear?” said she, noticing his embarrassment, and misinterpreting it.

“Nothing whatever—dear.”

“That's right. It wouldn't have a secret from its little wifey, would it, on this day, too, of all others?”

The truth flashed upon him. If he had never been tarred and feathered he would never have made the acquaintance of the Rev. Hicks K. Plappy, and so would never have married his daughter Louisa, but would probably have married someone else, to wit, the buxom jolly red-faced lady who was at that moment plumping kisses into the very heart of his right cheek. The delicacy of his position was not all diminished by the discovery.

“Poor Louisa!” exclaimed Freddy, with unaffected grief, for he was very fond of her. “Poor darling Louisa!”

“Frederick!” exclaimed the stout lady.

“And the dear, dear children! I shall never see them again!”

“Frederick! on this day, too, of all others!” screamed the stout lady. “Explain yourself this moment, I insist!”

Freddy pulled himself together in a moment.

“It's a sad story,” said he. “I had a dear, dear sister—whose existence I have hitherto kept a secret from you, for, many years ago, she disgraced her family by marrying a villain—a pickle-merchant, who had extensive works in Lambeth. His business has gradually declined, owing to the rapid rise in the price of copper, and he and Louisa and her innocent babes have emigrated to New Zealand.”