"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.
She became white and dazed. "Before—or after?" she asked. He paused a moment, looking steadily at her, and answered, "Before."
She drew back as though she had been struck. "Good God!" she cried.
"Why did he not—" she paused.
"Why did he not marry you himself?" he rejoined.