"John!" she cried, in involuntary anguish.
But not even his large heart was proof against the gall and wormwood of betrayal. "You must forgive a fellow for butting in. I didn't know—of course you understand that?"
"I never for a moment dreamed that you knew," she said finely.
He looked up then and saw the white agony of her face and his head swam. Had the fever come back on him?
"Will you tell me—his name?" he asked hoarsely.
She tried twice to speak before she could answer him. "Belhaven," she said at last.
John turned his face away; she could not see his expression, but she saw the strong hand at his side clench nervously and she felt and shared the still agony. They were walking on; before them the green meadowland sloped beautifully to the edge of the brook; beyond it, rose the low growth of laurel and young dogwood, and through the shadowy grove she caught glimpses of Belhaven's house, her home!
"Have you been married long?" John asked at last, though he could not look at her.
"Nearly three months."
"I don't know why I didn't hear," he said, after a long moment. "You'll have to forgive me, I—" he stopped abruptly.