All the old fiery temper and jealousy which she had kept smouldering in restraint now burst its bounds.
Flushed and trembling she rushed from the house and soon reached the church.
She opened the door gently, and with soft feline step was about to enter the Sunday-school room to reach his study, when through the glass sliding partition she heard the voice of Van Meter talking in the dark to a detective and a reporter.
She listened intently.
"I wish you had a flashlight camera," he was saying. "His wife will be here in a few minutes and the scene in that room would be worth ten thousand dollars. I have a good photograph of the woman you can use. You can get his anywhere."
"It will be a great scoop on the other fellows who will write up the Temple without the Priestess!" the reporter whispered.
"I'd give a thousand dollars to see his face in the morning when he picks up your paper and reads its headlines," chuckled the Deacon. "His eloquence, his bullfrog voice, his curling locks, his splendid eyes, will all be needed, and will all of them be inadequate to the occasion."
"It will be tough on that beautiful woman, the scandal—by George, it's a pity," the reporter sighed.
"But it will be a great day for the little black-eyed spitfire wife of his he's been neglecting for the past year. Her revenge will be sweet. I've been sorry enough for her."
