"I," he stammered—"I am already married."
She gave a little, stifled cry—whether of pain or horror or of indignation he could not tell.
"I'm sorry—I—" he began.
"Don't you think you might have thought of this before?"
"I ... you don't understand—"
"Are you in the habit of declaring yourself first and confessing later?... Don't answer, if you don't want to. I've no real right to know. I asked out of simple curiosity."
"If you'd only listen to me!" he broke out suddenly. "The thing's so strange, so far off—dreamlike—that I forget it easily."
"So it would seem," she put in cruelly.
"Please hear me!"
"Surely you must see I am listening, Mr. Whitaker."