“Never,” Henrietta answered, but not as if the question had offended her.
“But I'm not going to take that for an answer,” he said. “I can't. It would make a liar of me. I told Miss Susan I was going to marry you, and she rather depends on it, poor soul.”
“I told you, Johnnie, I have a husband. It is ridiculous, sinful, for you to talk to me of marrying.”
“I see! Which husband do you mean, Etta? The Colorado one who was and then was n't?”
“Oh! please don't!” Henrietta begged. “I can't tell you. Not now. Not yet. Perhaps never. I—”
“If you don't mean the Colorado myth,” said Johnnie, quite unabashed, “you must mean Freeman. Do you?”
There was a momentary silence.
“Yes, I do mean Freeman,” Henrietta said then. “How did you know he was my husband?”
“Well, you see,” said Johnnie slowly but wickedly, “he sold you to me. The night of the row about Lem stealing Miss Susan's money, Freeman came to my room after you had taken Lem, and we had a frank talk—quite a frank talk. So I bought you.”
“John!”