I consider, understood it. He HAD to have money--it was a question of life and death. It wouldn't have been a bit amusing, either, to marry him as a pauper--I mean leaving him one. That was what she had--as HE had--the reason to see."
"And their reason is what you call their romance?"
She looked at him a moment. "What do you want more?"
"Didn't HE," the Colonel inquired, "want anything more? Or didn't, for that matter, poor Charlotte herself?"
She kept her eyes on him; there was a manner in it that half answered. "They were thoroughly in love. She might have been his--" She checked herself; she even for a minute lost herself. "She might have been anything she liked--except his wife."
"But she wasn't," said the Colonel very smokingly.
"She wasn't," Mrs. Assingham echoed.
The echo, not loud but deep, filled for a little the room. He seemed to listen to it die away; then he began again. "How are you sure?"
She waited before saying, but when she spoke it was definite. "There wasn't time."
He had a small laugh for her reason; he might have expected some other. "Does it take so much time?"
She herself, however, remained serious. "It takes more than they had."
He was detached, but he wondered. "What was the matter with their time?" After which, as, remembering it all, living it over and piecing it together, she only considered, "You mean that you came in with your idea?" he demanded.
It brought her quickly to the point, and as if also in a measure to answer herself. "Not a bit of it--THEN. But you surely recall," she went on, "the way, a year ago, everything took place. They had parted before he had ever heard of Maggie."
"Why hadn't he heard of her from Charlotte herself?"
"Because she had never spoken of her."
"Is that also," the Colonel inquired, "what she has told you?"
"I'm not speaking," his wife returned, "of what she ha
