thought he was dead, David! The court thought so."
"The court," said David in his daze. Above him, thunder crashed; the room lights went down but in a moment were bright. "The court thought he was dead, so you did. When did you find out he wasn't?"
"To-day, David."
"To-day. How'd you find out? What happened? What happened when I was away, Fidelia? Did he come here?"
"No, David; he couldn't come here. He's in the war."
She cast no comparison at him but David felt it. Sam Bolton whom she had loved before she knew David Herrick, Bolton with whom she had cooked that happy camp supper, which David could never forget, Sam Bolton, who she thought was dead but who was alive and was her husband, was not here in a safe, comfortable place; he was in the war! "He was in London, when he wrote me," she explained. "He'd just come to London from France where he's been fighting, David. He sent for me to come to London; he wants me with him there."
"You talk," said David, "as though you had an idea of going."
"Of course I'm going, David."
He did not set himself yet to combat her; he did not yet believe what she said. From among the thousand items of this affair which he needed to know before he could combat her, he chose one to ask.
"When was this, Fidelia?"
"What?"
"Your marriage to him."
