A sob was strangled in her throat. “I have the right of the man who loves you,” he declared. "I am too much honoured—too happy in the union. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. "It was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart.
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