'He hasn't; not a word. He never talks of himself at all.'
'But, my child, you must know something of him at this time of day. Where are his parents--his relations?'
'I don't think he has any. I've never met them, and he's never spoken of them to me. I've heard him say that his mother died before his father, and that his father and he didn't get on.'
'They did not.' I wondered how she knew. 'By the way, what is your Christian name?'
'Mary, miss.'
'Mary? A good old-fashioned name. I love it. You look sweet and pure enough even to be a Mary.' I wished she wouldn't talk like that; she made me tingle. 'I am Edith Desmond. Have you ever heard the name?'
'Not that I remember, miss; and I don't think I should have forgotten if I had.'
'I am going to ask you a strange question; especially coming from a stranger. But I want you to tell me; do you love your husband?'
'Love him!' I felt a catching of my breath. The idea of her asking if I loved him! 'There's nothing I wouldn't do for love of him. He's my man.'
'Your man? That's another good old-fashioned word. Your man!' She seemed to hesitate before she spoke again. 'Have you--have you your husband's photograph?'