IN BATTERSEA PARK
known. Only I would not know. Tell me some more. Tell me about her."
Lewisham did. The whole thing was abominably disagreeable to him, but it had to be done, he had promised Ethel it should be done. Presently Miss Heydinger knew the main outline of his story, knew all his story except the emotion that made it credible. "And you were married—before the second examination?" she repeated.
"Yes," said Lewisham.
"But why did you not tell me of this before?" asked Miss Heydinger.
"I don't know," said Lewisham. "I wanted to—that day, in Kensington Gardens. But I didn't. I suppose I ought to have done so."
"I think you ought to have done so."
"Yes, I suppose I ought. . . But I didn't. Somehow—it has been hard. I didn't know what you would say. The thing seemed so rash, you know, and all that."
He paused blankly.
"I suppose you had to do it," said Miss Heydinger presently, with her eyes on his profile.
Lewisham began the second and more difficult part of his explanation. "There's been a difficulty," he said, "all the way along—I mean—about you, that is. It's a little difficult— The fact is, my wife, you know— She looks at things differently from what we do."
"We?"
"Yes—it's odd, of course. But she has seen your letters———"
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