“You can never do that,” she interrupted quickly. “I have tried and tried, but have failed.”
“Why?”
“Because, strange though it may seem, I am entirely unaware of the identity of my husband. I have never seen him.”
I was silent. Should I reveal to her the truth? She could not believe me, if I did. What proof could I show her?
“And you do not know his name?”
“No; I do not even know his name,” she answered. “All I know is that by this marriage I am debarred for ever from all love and happiness. I have nothing to live for—nothing! Each day increases the mystery, and each day brings to me only bitterness and despair. Ah! how a woman may suffer and still live.”
“Have you no means by which to discover the identity of your unknown husband?” I inquired.
“None whatever,” she answered. “I know that I am married—beyond that, nothing.”
“And who else is in possession of this secret?” I inquired.
“Nora.”