"Have you any more secrets of the past that you are keeping from me?"
"None. Not one. You may take my honour upon it, Eliza. And now let us—"
She had started forward in her chair; a red flush darkening her pale cheeks, "Philip! Philip! am I legally married? Did you describe yourself as a bachelor in the license?"
"No, as a widower. I got the license in London, you know."
"And no one read it?"
"No one save he who married us: Robert Grame, and I don't suppose he noticed it."
Robert Grame! The flush on Eliza's cheeks grew deeper.
"Did you love her?"
"I suppose I thought so when I married her. It did not take long to disenchant me," he added with a harsh laugh.
"What was her Christian name?"