“No,” she responded; “I thought the entry would be at Somerset House.”
“What previous knowledge had you of the Major?”
“He was a friend of Ashwicke’s, who had been introduced to us one night in the stalls at Daly’s. He afterwards dined several times at Gloucester Square.”
“But Sir Henry does not know him.”
“It was while he was away at the Cape.”
“Then you have not the faintest idea of the reason of our extraordinary marriage, darling?” I asked, holding her hand. “I have told you all that actually occurred. Can you form no conclusion whatever as to the motive?”
“Absolutely none,” she answered. “I am as utterly in the dark as yourself. I cannot understand why you were selected as my husband.”
“But you do not regret?” I asked tenderly.
“Regret? No,” she repeated, raising her beautiful face to mine, perfect in its loveliness and purity. “I do not regret now, Richard—because I love you.” And our lips met again in fervent tenderness.
“It is still an absolute mystery,” I observed at last. “We know that we are wedded, but there our knowledge ends.”