"Yes, mother," he said at length, "go on."
"What could I do but obey him?" she said. "I had promised before God that I would, and I did. I went back to my father—he had wondered where I had gone—and told him I had wedded a young Englishman named Douglas Graham. I think my father thought that all was right, for, while he spoke harsh words to me, he seemed presently to settle down to the conviction that my husband would soon come to me, and that I should be a lady. But my stepmother said awful things. I will not tell you what! Even now her words cut me like a knife."
"Well," said the youth, "and what then?"
"Day after day I waited for a letter from him," she replied. "At first I hadn't a doubt; he had promised me and I believed him. But when one month had gone, and then two, I grew desperate."
"And he never wrote to you at all?" asked the youth.
"At the end of three months," she replied, "I got a letter."
"Yes"—and his voice was eager—"what did he say?"
"Here it is," she replied, and she passed him a crumpled piece of paper. The envelope was stamped with a London post-mark, but the paper within had no address of any sort. It simply contained the words:
"DEAR JEAN,—It cannot be helped now, and of course we were never really married. It was only a joke.—DOUGLAS."
"And that was all?" said the youth.