indeed believe ill of YOUR husband, but you'll have to believe ill of MINE.
There's no use of your putting on such airs any longer. No matter how rash
and silly you may have been, if you have a spark of honesty you'll be open to
proof. If you and he try to brazen it out, the law will open both your eyes.
Look at that likeness, look at these letters; and I have other proof and
witnesses which can't be disputed. The name of the man you are living with is
not Wilson Ostrom. His name is Henry Ferguson. I am Mrs. Ferguson, and I
have my marriage certificate, and--What! Are you going to faint? Well, I can
wait till you recover and till HE comes," and she coolly sat down again.

Alida had glanced at the proofs which the woman had thrust into her hands,
then staggered back to a lounge that stood near. She might have fainted, but
at that awful moment she heard a familiar step on the stairs. She was facing
the door; the terrible stranger sat at one side, with her back toward it.

When Ostrom entered he first saw Alida looking pale and ill. He hastened
toward her exclaiming, "Why, Lida, dear, what is the matter? You are sick!"

Instinctively she sprang to his arms, crying, "Oh, thank God! You've come.
Take away this awful woman!"

"Yes, Henry Ferguson; it's very proper you should take me away from a place
like this."

As the man who had called himself Wilson Ostrom heard that voice he trembled
like an aspen; his clasp of Alida relaxed, his arms dropped to his side, and,
as he sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands, he groaned,
"Lost!"

"Found out, you mean," was the woman's reply.