“Yes,” answered Webster, slowly. He was scarcely listening to her; he was still gazing at the photograph he held in his hand, and wondering how he ought to act.
“May I ask you a question?” he said, a moment later, looking at Kathleen Weir.
“Of course you may.”
“Where were you married?”
“Do you mean in what church?”
“I mean in what place. Were you married in London?”
“Yes, certainly; I was married in an old city church called St. Jude’s. We were married there because it was out of the way, I suppose. John Temple chose the church, and I went and lived a fortnight in the parish before it took place.”
“And—forgive me—you cared for him then?”
“Yes; more fool I! But why do you ask all these questions? You make me curious.”
At this moment the curtain dividing the two rooms moved, and the beautiful actress, Linda Falconer, stepped between them, followed by her young lover.