“I see, then, you will obtain a divorce. I have always been told that in America there are special facilities for disjoining marriage ties. Is New York a good place for that sort of thing?”
“There is no necessity, madame, to dissolve marriage ties.”
“You are very, very serious this evening,” said Lucille, putting the cigarette in her mouth. “I hate conundrums. All this afternoon I have been worrying myself to find an answer to the riddle, why I became your wife?”
“You never did become my wife,” replied the colonel shortly.
Lucille turned pale, and then her face was suffused with color. She rose to her full height.
“And you have come to tell me this?”
“Now, madame, see here; I don’t want any heroics. I am going to take it quietly, and I advise you to do the same. Now, what I have to say is just this. I made a mistake in marrying you.”
“The mistake was mutual.”
“Now, madame, there is no cause for interruption. You shall have the story right away, and if you have not enough of it by the time I have done, it will be your fault and not mine. Look you here, if I made a mistake you made a greater. Have you ever heard of a crime called bigamy?”
“Yes,” returned Lucille coolly. “It is a weakness of mine—I committed bigamy when I married you.”