He paused to cast a hasty look at me, then he went on.
“While waiting for you I had time to renew my acquaintance with my dear wife,” he said mockingly.
“And--and have you persuaded her that you are a true and loyal husband?” I asked, hesitating bitterly over the words.
“Nay, curses on it,” he cried. “Why, man, ’twould be laughable, but that I am more in love with her than ever. Fancy a man in love with his wife a second time, yet not allowed to greet her, to call upon her, save in the presence of a serving maid, not to take her hand, to kiss----”
I started forward, with what intent I know not, for the memory of those kisses I had pressed on Lucille’s lips came back to me. I felt that one of us, for the sake of the honor of Lucille, must die.
“Then your second suit is not favored, as was the first?” I inquired.
“Nay,” he replied bitterly. “Why, ’tis town gossip now that she loves you, for no one is aware that she is my wife yet. A pretty tale, is it not? How the French maid fell in love with the Captain that casts great rocks as though they were but[but] pebbles.”
“You lie, damn you!” I cried. “She did love me, perhaps. But it was before she knew she had no right.”
“No right?”
“My life upon it, she did not know, Sir George. She either believed you dead, or knew that she was no more bound to you than to the veriest beggar.”