“Do you know his friend, Tattersett—Major Tattersett?”
“No,” responded Sir Henry; “never met him.” With the others I went along to the drawing-room and found Beryl alone in a cozy corner, obviously awaiting me. She twisted a lace scarf about her shoulders and we strolled out upon the terrace, as was our habit each evening if fine and starlight. When we had gained the further end she suddenly halted, and turning to me said, in a low, husky voice that trembled with emotion—
“Doctor Colkirk, you have deceived me!”
“Deceived you, Miss Wynd?” I exclaimed, taken completely aback by her allegation. “How?”
“I know the truth—a truth that you cannot deny. I—I am your wife.”
“I do not seek to deny it,” I answered in deep, solemn earnestness, taking her small white hand in mine. “It is true, Beryl, that you are my wife—true also that I love you.”
“But it cannot be possible!” she gasped. “I knew that I was a wife, but never dreamed that you were actually my husband.”
“And how did you discover it?”
“I was down by the waterside this evening, before dinner, and overheard your conversation with Mr Ashwicke.”
“All of it?”