She stopped suddenly, and there was a silence in the room. He was looking at her curiously, still ignoring that little left hand. Only one word of her speech seemed to have attached itself to his understanding.
“Fred?” he said. “Fred Farrar?”
“Yes—my husband!”
He turned away—walked towards the door, and then returned to the hearthrug, where he stood quite still.
“I suppose it was a quiet wedding,” he said in a hard voice, “on my account; eh?”
“Yes,” she whispered. He waited, but she added nothing.
Then suddenly he laughed.
“I have made a most extraordinary mistake!” he said, and again laughed.
“Oh, don't” she exclaimed.
“Don't what?”