“Why not? He adores me, and he is free,” was her answer, given with a little triumphant air.
“Yes,” I said, “I know he is free: he has lately lost his wife. He has made good his claim to the sum for which he insured her life.”
Mary grew deadly pale. “How did you learn this? what do you know of him?” she stammered.
I had no reply to give. She scanned my face anxiously for some time; then in a low voice she added, “What do you suspect?”
I was still silent, and only looked at her fixedly.
“You do not speak,” she pursued nervously. “Why do you not speak? Ah, you know more than you would say! Master John, Master John, you might set my tortured mind at rest, and clear or confirm those doubts which will come into my poor head, spite of myself. Speak out—O, do speak out!”
“Not here; it is impossible,” I replied, looking around. The room as the hour advanced, was becoming more thronged with guests, and the full tables gave a pretext for my reticence, when in truth I had nothing to say.
“Will you come and see me—will you?” she asked with earnest entreaty.
I nodded my head.
“Have you a pocketbook? I will write you my address; and you will come—yes, I am sure you will come!” she said in an agitated way.