“1920!”
“Good God!” He jumped up, gripped in a panic that drove the blood out of his face, and switched round to his wife. “Evelyn! Where have I been? Haven’t I been here all this time?”
She took a deep breath.
“I see you to-day for the first time since you sailed in April, 1918, Harry,” she said, steadily.
He stood swaying on his feet, hand pressed to his brow, through a long moment of realization. No one spoke. Then he dropped his hand, turned to his wife again.
“And you?—When——?” he indicated Satterthwaite with a helpless gesture, “when did this happen?”
She met his eyes bravely.
“I married—Jack—a year ago to-day!” she answered. The effort of her speech was obvious.
“But you couldn’t!” he exclaimed. “It’s bigamy!”