"Yes, there was a reason. You may as well know it. Your letter and your coming were both too late. I was married."
The doctor was not quick enough for this—
"Yes, of course you were, but—"
"Oh, not to you! Can't you understand? I was married to another man…. You need not look like that! What did you expect? I warned you. I knew I could never defy mother. I told you so. But you said it wouldn't be long—that she need never know. And I waited and waited. I could have married more than once but I wouldn't. I faced mother and said I wouldn't. But every time it was harder. I couldn't keep it up. And you didn't come. Then when he came and we thought he was so rich she made me marry him. She made me. I thought you were never coming back anyway. I wrote you once telling you to come. You didn't answer."
She paused breathless but he could find nothing to say. It seemed a small thing that the letter must have missed him somewhere, his whole mind was absorbed in trying to comprehend one stupendous fact. The puzzle had shifted into place indeed.
"I thought you didn't care any more," her words raced as if eager to be done, "and mother gave me no peace. You will never understand how terrified I was of mother. And he seemed so kind and was going to be rich. He owned part of a gold mine—mother was sure it would mean millions. But it didn't. Mother was fooled there!" with a gleam of malice. "The mine turned out to be worthless—after we were married."
Callandar drew a sharp breath and shook himself as if to throw off the horror of some enthralling nightmare.
"You married him—this man—knowing that you were a wife already?"
"A fine sort of wife!" He quivered at the coarseness of meaning in her tone. "We were never really married."
"What do you mean?"