“Was that all?”
“Yes,” said Yvonne.
“Do you mean to tell me,” he insisted, “that you married a second time, having no further proofs of your first husband’s death than a mere newspaper report?”
“It never occurred to me to doubt it,” she replied, opening piteous, innocent eyes.
The childlike irresponsibility was above his comprehension. Her apparent insensibility to the most vital concerns of life was another shock to him. It seemed criminal.
“God forgive you,” he said, “for the wrong you have done me.”
“But I did it unknowingly, Everard,” cried poor Yvonne. “If one has to get greater proofs, why did you not ask for them, yourself?”
The Canon turned away and paced the room slowly, without replying. At last he stood still before her.
“Among ordinary honourable people one takes such things for granted,” he said.
“Forgive me,” she said again, humbly.