more tragic because you were the victim, you of all the persons in the world!"
She had put the ring down, and now she took it up again and examined it curiously.
"It is rather—quaint, isn't it?" she asked.
"Oh, very."
He thought he heard a sob and looked up. She was laughing, at first silently, then, as the humour of the thing seized her, her laugh rang clear and he caught its infection.
"It's funny," she said at last, wiping her eyes, "there is a humorous side to it. Poor Mr. Beale!"
"I deserve a little pity," he said ruefully.
"Why?" she asked quickly. "Have you committed bigamy?"
"Not noticeably so," he answered, with a smile.
"Well, what are you going to do about it? It's rather serious when one thinks of it—seriously. So I am Mrs. Stanford Beale—poor Mr. Beale, and poor Mrs. Beale-to-be. I do hope," she said, and this time her seriousness was genuine, "that I have not upset any of your plans too much. Oh," she sat down suddenly, staring at him, "it would be awful," she said in a hushed voice, "and I would never forgive myself. Is there—forgive my asking the question, but I suppose," with a flashing smile, "as your wife I am entitled to your confidence—is there somebody you are going to marry?"
"I have neither committed bigamy nor do I contemplate it," said Beale, who was gradually recovering his grip of the situation, "if you mean am I engaged to somebody—in fact, to a girl," he said recklessly, "the answer is in the negative. There will be no broken hearts on my side of the family. I have no desire to probe your wounded heart"
"Don't be flippant," she stopped him sternly; "it is a very terrible situation, Mr. Beale, and I hardly dare to think of it."
"I realize how terrible it is," he said, suddenly bold, "and as I tell you, I will do everything I can to correct my blunder."
