The husband was furious at this note, seemingly so harmless. He thrust it into his pocket, and without waiting to see his wife strode from the house. He had now, he thought, what he had long suspected, proof of his wife's infidelity. Why, it was shamless! Dr. Stanton would pass the night, would he, and blame it on the baby! but he should find that there was a husband around ready to deal terrible vengeance upon the betrayer. His feelings were not pleasant ones, as he lay perdue the rest of the day, nursing his wrath, to keep it warm. When the pretty young actress came home she was told that a gentleman had called and gone away in a great hurry, leaving no name. At about half-past ten that evening, while she was at the theatre, the door of her bed-room was dragged open furiously, and the enraged husband rushed in. He looked around under the bed and into the closets, but found no man. There were, however, two persons in the room. One an infant slumbering peacefully in the crib, the other a lady sitting at a small table on which lay several little bits of white paper into which she was pouring some globules from a tiny bottle. Her eyes were blue, her complexion a pure pink and white, and her hair, curling in loose ringlets over her well-formed head, was just touched with gray. She looked up astonished and said:-- "Don't make such a noise; you'll wake the child. Are you a burglar or what do you want?" The husband paused in his fruitless search and replied: "I want that man." "What man?" "The man that's made an appointment with my wife for to-night." "Who is your wife and what business have you in Miss ----'s bed-room?" asked the lady. "Miss ----'s my wife." "Indeed; well, you can't make me believe that she ever made any appointment with any man she oughtn't to make." "I can't, can't I? read that then," he said, throwing the letter on the table and scattering the medicine. The lady read the letter and began to laugh, which enraged the husband still more. "Where have you hidden this Dr. Stanton? I will blow his brains out," he cried. "No, you won't." "You see if I don't." "Well, blow then: I am Dr. Stanton, the author of that letter," said the lady. She had to sign her name, Kate S. Stanton, and show him that the writing was the same as in the note, before he would be convinced, and then he was the most sheepish-looking man in New York. The story got out, and he was the butt of every actor in the city. They refused to believe that he "walked home." They condoled with him on account of his ill health, which forced him to stop acting. They recommended him to consult a doctor, especially a lady doctor, Kate Stanton, for example. Altogether he was so "roasted" that he will have to have more than a mere letter in future to make him thirst for vengeance. "Hang these women doctors!" is all you can get him to say; "if they must be doctors, why can't they sign their full name, and not make trouble between man and wife?" CHAPTER XXXV.