Pause. "Do you mind if I sit down," asked Miss Heydinger in an indifferent tone.
"There is a seat yonder," said Lewisham, "under the tree."
They walked to the seat in silence.
"Now," said Miss Heydinger, quietly. "Tell me whom you have married."
Lewisham answered sketchily. She asked him another question and another. He felt stupid and answered with a halting truthfulness.
"I might have known," she said, "I might have known. Only I would not know. Tell me some more. Tell me about her."
Lewisham did. The whole thing was abominably disagreeable to him, but it had to be done, he had promised Ethel it should be done. Presently Miss Heydinger knew the main outline of his story, knew all his story except the emotion that made it credible. "And you were married—before the second examination?" she repeated.
"Yes," said Lewisham.
"But why did you not tell me of this before?" asked Miss Heydinger.
"I don't know," said Lewisham. "I wanted to—that day, in Kensington Gardens. But I didn't. I suppose I ought to have done so."
"I think you ought to have done so."
"Yes, I suppose I ought . . . But I didn't.
