"I used to know her, to my sorrow, once upon a time, long before I knew you, my dear."
The final words were intended as a sort of propitiation--I saw that she was getting roused at last--but they failed in their effect. She stood straight up, facing me, her fists clenched at her sides.
"Who was she? What was her name?"
"Her name was Ellen Howth. I assure you, my dear, that there is no necessity for you to get warm. I have heard and seen nothing of her since I married you. Indeed, these many years I have thought she was dead."
"Why did you think she was dead? What did it matter to you if she was dead or alive? What did you know of her?"
"Really nothing, I am afraid, to her advantage."
"What do you mean? Tell me the truth, Tom, if you have never told me it before. What was she to you?"
"She was nothing to me. My dear, she was a person of indifferent character."
"Do you mean----" She paused. She came close to the bed. She leant over me. "Was she----"
I knew what she meant too well. My heart and my voice sank as I replied. I did not know how she would take it.