She started at my touch. Then she seemed to remember, and flung
herself into her part with abandon.

When the ghost was on, I had a brilliant idea.

"Leave the hangman out," I whispered, "and put up Judy instead.
We'll have a reconciliation to finish with."

And so to Punch, sobered, shaking, cowering in the corner, with
his little plaster hands before his face, came his poor wife.
(Oh, but she did it well !) Gently, timidly, bravely, she laid a
trembling hand upon his shoulder, and coaxed his hands from
before his frightened eyes, then, backing, stood with
outstretched, appealing little arms- a gesture at once so loving
and pathetic that Punch was fain to thrust his sleeve before his
eyes and turn his face in shame to the wall. Softly went Judy to
him again, touched him, and waited. And as he turned again, to
find two little arms stealing about his neck, and a poor, bare,
bruised head upon his chest, he flung his arms about her with a
toot of joy, and clasped her in the accepted fashion. Oh, very
charming.

This was greeted with prolonged applause.

"Hold it," I said. " Hold the picture!"

As she obeyed I slid my left arm about her, ready to lift her up.

Suddenly Punch became limp and lifeless in his wife's embrace,
and with my freed right hand I slipped her mask over her