“Well, I’ll go back a bit.”
“Yes, do try back.”
“I will. As I was a saying, Charlie, I fell in love with her.”
“Oh, gammon and all—shut up.”
“But I won’t shut up; I did more than this. When she was a chit of a girl as didn’t know her own mind, and was anxious to get away from her stepmother, who treated her with the greatest unkindness, she gave her consent and became my wife.”
“Your wife!” cried Peace, wheeling back his chair, and regarding the gipsy with an incredulous look. “Why you must have taken leave of your senses.”
“No, I aint; what I’ve said is the solemn truth. She became my wife; but, Lord, it wasn’t to be supposed that a purty delicate creature like her would stay with me—it wasn’t possible—not likely. She was a deal too good for me, and so in less than six months after our wedding we parted. I gave her up. She went her way, and I went mine. She left the country. Remained in India for some years, so I was told; indeed, I thought she was there still; never dreamed of her being in this country. However, she was, and we met.”
“And did you claim her then as your wife.”
“Claim her! I should think not. Hav’n’t I told you we were separated twenty years ago—divorced?”
“Oh, you were divorced.”