“When you married me——” Her little hand flashed out across the table. “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Terror had laid a paralyzing hand upon her, fear kept her almost unconscious of the curious glances which she was continually attracting. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised.
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