“Beatrice,” she said solemnly, “I must not meet that man. He must not see me, for his sake, and for mine. All his life long he must go on thinking as he does now, that I am ... a dream.”
“The old woman says he starts for Spain to-day.”
Ted’s roundabout figure was suddenly seen trundling out across the grass towards the distant pacing figure.
“Who is that?” said Essie frowning.
“Who is that? Why, it’s Ted of course.”
“And who is Ted?”
“Who is Ted?” I echoed staring at her. “What on earth do you mean?”
She seemed to make a great mental effort.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes. It is Ted. My husband. I forgot. You see I’ve never seen him here before.”
“You will soon grow accustomed to seeing him here,” I said cheerfully.