'How did you—?'
'I felt it. You have met her again.'
Again he was speechless. Beatrice asked—
'Does she live in London?'
'She does.'
'You have met her, and have—have wished that you were free?'
'Beatrice, I have done worse. I have acted as though I were free.'
She shook, as if a blow had fallen upon her. Then a smile came to her lips.
'You have asked her again to be your wife?'
'I have.'