“Why did you marry me?”
The face opposite him was that of a girl, the voice that of a woman struggling with pain and misery. He started and dropped her hand, and the color flew to his face, then left it, and left it paler than before.
“That is a strange question,” he said in a low voice, and with a ghost of a smile. “A strange question from one’s bride and at such a time. Have you forgotten that we were married only a few hours ago?”
“I have not forgotten,” she said, and her voice was altogether sad now. “But answer me: you promised.”
He laughed, but with an undercurrent of uneasiness.
“I will, if you must have it. I married you because I love you.”
Her eyes flashed; the Three Star spirit flamed up within her.
“It is a lie!” she said, not loudly, but with terrible distinctness.
Trafford’s face went white, and he stood for a moment, breathing hard and looking at her as if he had not heard her aright.