For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. There was another little thing he had to say. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach. Then, mysteriously, he no longer smelled or tasted it. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me.
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