“It’s not—not so nice,” she said hesitatingly. “To think you were married, actually married, fixed up a home before this one, brought a girl into it, loved her—Oh, Rod, were you? Were you—married—before?”
Rodney nodded. “Yes, Cis, I was. I had to tell you; please, please, don’t mind, Cis!”
For a few minutes Cicely was silent, shading her face with her hand; Rodney waited breathlessly for her to speak.
At last she pushed back her hair with the hand that had rested against her forehead, smiled bravely, with a visible effort, and put out that hand to Rodney.
“Poor dear!” she said softly. “I’m sorry! It rather knocked me up at first, but I won’t let it bother me long. All girls like to be the first, you know, but it’s really all right, as long as you love me dearly now. You told me that you’d fancied others before me, so I did half-way know, but marriage is different. I didn’t know you’d loved one well enough for that. I wish you’d told me sooner—But it was awfully hard to tell me at all, I see that, so I’m grateful to you for making yourself speak of it now. It is right to have told me before we were married; I don’t know just how I should have felt if I’d found it out later; I’m so keen on honesty.”
Rodney winced. “I know, Cis; that’s why I had to tell you. But that time was nothing like this; don’t you imagine I ever felt for any other girl what I feel for you!”
“Ah, poor Other Girl!” murmured Cis. “I don’t like to have you say what she would have hated! Better let me be a little bit sore, because I’ll fight it down, and I’m alive, and it’s like taking an advantage of a dead girl to say what you did. Do you mind talking of her, Rodney dear? Would you tell me about her? Does it hurt to speak of her? What did she look like? Dark hair and eyes, because mine are not. Was she little and sweet, or tall and splendid? Rod, oh, my poor Rod, you suffered, you must have suffered when she—died! And I could not be there to help you! I’d have helped you, dear. Will you tell me all these things? Can you bear it? Does it still hurt, Rod? If it does, oh, if it does, then this is not altogether my home! It is part hers, and so are you!”
“I don’t care any more for her, Cicely Adair, than I care for your friend Nan’s cat—if she has one! Don’t you get notions! It was a mad infatuation; I might have known how she’d have turned out, but I was young, and—well, Cis, I got all snarled up with her. That’s not much like my love for you!” Rodney cried.
“Oh me, oh dear!” Cis half sobbed. “I don’t know whether that makes it better; I’ve got to get used to this, and go off to think it out by myself. When did she die? Where did you bury her?”
“In the Chicago divorce court,” said Rodney savagely.