DAVID fumbled for the light switch; he pressed it and saw her plainly and as he stared upon her, she became florid with flushes of hot blood and her bosom swelled with her breath and was full. He held out his arms to her as he asked again, as though in the dark when he could not well see her he must have misunderstood. "What happened when I was away, Fidelia?"
"Sam," she said, "I told you about him before; you can't say I didn't tell you about him long ago, David—Sam, Sam Bolton, my husband."
"Your husband," David repeated, dropping his arms. There she was saying the same thing again and in the light. "Bolton your husband! He was your husband, you mean?"
"Yes; of course, David."
"You mean you married him?"
"Of course I married him, David. What did you think, after what I told you? I told you we'd been in camp; did you think after what I'd told you, I wasn't married to him?"
"Married!" repeated David. "Married! You were married and you never told me?"
"But I did or I practically did."
"Practically!" he repeated. "Practically!"
"And I thought he was dead. Any one would have
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