“Anyway,” she said, “you have your little boy.”
“That makes it worse,” he answered, in a muffled voice. “He is an illegitimate child. He is disgraced.”
“Oh, you don’t believe such things!” cried Frances. “You’re far too sensible and broad-minded for that, I know!”
“No, no, I’m not.... If it was the ordinary thing—a passion—a love affair.... But she—lived here as my wife.... Everyone knew her.”
He raised his head and looked at her with honest, misty, blue eyes.
“What am I to say? Bigamy is a crime. She is a bigamist. I’ve got to keep it quiet. We were married here; it’s in the register.... I cannot tell anyone she was not my wife. I’ll have to let it be thought that she deserted me—ran off with this—this chap we called her brother. I’ll be the laughing stock of the place. Under his nose it went on, the neighbours will say. And I was a fool. Such a fool! I can’t believe it ...! My boy is going to hear all that in the course of time.”
“Can’t you leave here?”
“I’ve built up my name and reputation here. At my age—to start all over again ...!
“I’m very sorry,” she said, simply.
“Thank you,” he replied.