come under
compulsion from a stronger will: "I--I know--"

"You know the gentleman."

The pale thin lips parted again. After a second or two there was a
barely audible "Yes."

"I'm his wife."

There was no sign on the woman's part either of surprise or of quickened
interest.

There was only the brief hesitation that preceded all her responses.

"Are you?"

"You knew he was married, didn't you?"

"Oh yes."

"Have you known him long?"

"Eleven years."

"That's longer than I've known him."

"Oh yes."

"Do you know how long I've known him?"

"Oh yes."

"How do you know?"

"I remember."

"What makes you remember?"

"He told me."

"Why did he tell you?"

A glow of animation came into the dazed face. "That's what I don't know.
I didn't care--much. He always said he would marry some day. It had
nothing to do with me. We agreed on that from the first."

"From the first of--what?"

"From the first of everything."

Before putting the next question Edith took time to think. Because she
was so startlingly cool and clear she was aware of feeling like one who
stands with the revolver at her breast or the draught of cyanide in her
hand, knowing that within a few seconds it may be too late to
reconsider. And yet, she had never in her life felt more perfectly
collected. She looked up the street and down the street, and across at
her own house, of which the cheerful windows reflected the May sunshine.
She bowed and smiled to a man on foot. She bowed and smiled two or three
times to people passing in carriages. From the Park she could hear the
shrieks of children on a merry-go-round; she could follow a catchy
refrain from "The Belle of New York" as played by a band at a distance.
Her sang-froid was extraordinary. It was while making the observation to
herself that her question came out, before she had decided whether or
not to utter it. She had no remorse for that, however, since she knew
she couldn't have kept herself from asking it in the end. As well expect
the man staggering to the outer edge of a precipice not to reel over.

"So it was--everything?"

In uttering the words she felt oddly shy. She looked down at the
pavement, then, with a flutter of the eyelids, up at the woman.

But the woman herself showed no such hesitation.

"Oh yes."

"And is--still?"

And then the woman who was not a girl, but who was curiously like a
child, suddenly took fright. Tears came to her eyes; there was a
convu