“No, I don’t think so.”
“The man’s name was Cayley—Cayley,” he said to her bluntly.
“How did you know?” she asked, astonished. “You never saw him.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve seen him,” was the reply—“seen him often. I knew him once.”
“I do not understand you,” she rejoined.
“I knew it all along,” he continued, “and I’ve waited for you to tell me.”
“How did you know?”
“Cayley told me.”
“When did he tell you?”
“The morning that I married you.” His voice was thick with misery.