III
“I,” she said, very slowly, “I was married the same night as you.”
He looked at her.
“Not legally, of course,” she replied. “But—actually.”
“To the keeper?” he said, not knowing what else to say.
She turned to him.
“You thought I could not?” she said. But the flush was deep in her cheek and throat, for all her assurance.
Still he would not say anything.
“You see”—she was making an effort to explain—“I had to understand also.”
“And what does it amount to, this understanding?” he asked.
“A very great deal—does it not to you?” she replied. “One is free.”
“And you are not disappointed?”
“Far from it!” Her tone was deep and sincere.
“You love him?”
“Yes, I love him.”
“Good!” he said.
This silenced her for a while.
“Here, among his things, I love him,” she said.
His conceit would not let him be silent.
“It needs this setting?” he asked.
“It does,” she cried. “You were always making me to be not myself.”
He laughed shortly.
