“I am afraid I must. The madwoman had nothing to gain by deceiving me, and you have.”
“You forget that what I had gained by fraud I should not be able to keep. If I were a married man there are people in the world who must know about it. It is rare that a woman is entirely without family and protectors, and can be kept out of sight without somebody requiring to know what has become of her.”
“True,” Lady Gwendolyn replied; “but one has heard of such things.”
“In novels.”
“In real life, too. One rarely takes up a newspaper without hearing of some mysterious disappearance.”
“That argument is rather in my favor than otherwise, Gwendolyn. If my wife had disappeared suddenly you would have seen something about it in the newspapers, according to your own showing, and there would have been every effort made to discover her whereabouts, or the manner of her death, if she were dead. Besides, it is only natural to suppose that in the early days I should have taken my wife to Borton, and introduced her to my neighbors. You do not marry a woman on purpose to shut her up; that would be an afterthought.”
“You could have gone abroad, and from there announced her death.”
“Possibly; but you may depend it is better to have a skeleton in your cupboard, rather than a living creature. One tells no tales, and the other might get one into some very unpleasant scrapes. Come, Gwen, do not be so unbelieving. I swear by all that is most sacred I have no wife. Even if I had wished to conceal this fact from the world in general I should certainly have confided in your brother, and you may be sure he would not have allowed me to visit at his house under false pretenses.”
“But, of course, you would not have confided in him if you had wished to keep your marriage a secret.”
“Gwendolyn,” he said passionately, “you will wear me out. If you would only trust me as I trust you. I love you so dearly, my sweetest.”