"I must," he said.
For the veriest second it was as if she struggled to understand. Then she threw out her hands dizzily, crying out.
"That is what your love was, then—a lie, a shameful lie?"
"It wasn't; no, Mary, it was real! I cared for you—I did; the thing is forced on me!"
"'Cared'? when you use your liberty like this? You 'cared'? And I pitied you—you wrung the soul of me with your despair—I forgave you keeping back the tale so long. I came to you to be your wife, and you went down on your knees and vowed you hadn't had the courage to tell me before, but your wife was living—some awful woman you couldn't divorce. I gave myself to you, I became the thing you can turn out of doors, all because I loved you, all because I believed in your love for me." She caught at her throat. "You deserved it, didn't you?—you justify it now so nobly, the faith that has made me a ——"
"Mary!"
"Oh, I can say it!" she burst forth hysterically. "I am, you know; you have made me one—you and your 'love'! Why shouldn't I say it?"
"I told you the truth; if I had been free at that time——"
"When did you hear the news of the death? Answer me—it wasn't to-night?"
"What's the difference," he muttered, "when I heard?"