I held my handkerchief to my mouth, but forced my eyes to look in the direction of my husband, never doubting that any emotion that my face might express would be attributed by him to my illness and condition. There was no more alteration in him than in Mary. He wore a little more whisker than formerly, and his hair was cut short in the military style, otherwise there was no change. He was dressed in dark grey clothes and, instead of a gold watch-chain, wore one of jet, to which was attached a locket which had formerly held, as it might still hold, a likeness of me and a piece of my hair.
He slightly bowed as to a perfect stranger, and leaned upon the table to look across at me. I closed my eyes and averted my face; I could not bear the dreadful trial of looking at him and of seeing him look at me. Oh, he was my husband—he was the father of my children—he had been my first and only love—but though he was my husband still, my love for my sister stood between him and me in as iron-like a barrier as ever the divorce law of the land could erect between two hearts.
Mary had gone to the end of the table where it faced the windows which overlooked the grounds; she stood with one hand upon it and the other resting upon her hip. When I opened my eyes she seemed to be gazing at me steadily, but the light was dim and I could not see her clearly.
‘I am sorry to hear of your illness,’ exclaimed my husband, addressing me across the table, ‘I trust you are feeling better?’
‘I believe I am well enough to return to my hotel,’ I answered in a tremulous voice, ‘will you kindly send for a cab?’
‘No,’ said my sister, ‘you must sleep here to-night. You are alone in Bath. Should you return to the hotel and feel ill in the night you will not be able to obtain the attention you might require.’
‘By what name shall I address you?’ said my husband.
‘Do not trouble her with questions, dear,’ said Mary. ‘She is very poorly.’
I had made up my mind to give the name of my old friend at Jesmond should it ever come to my having to give a name at all. This I had settled with myself before I left Newcastle. When Mary ceased I answered, ‘My name is Miss Lee.’
‘Have you no friend in Bath?’ said my husband.