"Yes—I will contrive to get it from her."
A week passed—he brought the marriage certificate.
Outwardly she was calm. She glanced through it. "God be thanked," she said, and handed it back. They chatted of indifferent things, of the doings of the neighbours. When he was going, she said, "Thou wilt come again?"
"Yes, I will come again."
"Thou art so good to spend thy time on me thus. But thy wife—will she not be jealous?"
He stared, bewildered by her strange, eerie moments.
"Jealous of thee?" he murmured.
She took it in its contemptuous sense and her white lips twitched. But she only said, "Is she aware thou hast come here?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Do I know? I have not told her."
"Tell her."