They were silent. To her it seemed that the silence shrieked aloud. He looked at her with an expression on his face which she was destined never to forget--as if he were hard of hearing, or fancied that his senses played him a trick, or that she had indulged in some ill-timed jest.
"What did you say?"
"I said that I am a wife already."
His look had become one of inquiry; as if desirous of learning if she were really in earnest. She felt her heart beating against her ribs, or seeming to--a habit of which it had been too fond of late. When it behaved like that it was only with an uncomfortable effort that she could keep a hold upon her consciousness; being fearful that it might slip away from her, in spite of all that she might be able to do. When he spoke again his tone had changed; as if he were puzzled. She had a sudden feeling that he was speaking to her as he might have spoken to a child.
"Do you know what you are saying? and do you mean what you say?"
"Of course I do."
"But--pardon me--I don't see the of course at all. Do you--seriously--wish me to understand that you're--a married woman?"
"Whether you understand it or not, I am."
"But you are scarcely more than a child. How old are you?"
"I am twenty-two."