"When did you marry her ?" I explained briefly the condition of affairs.

She looked at me hard and long; then stared out of the window again, and scarce heeded what I said.
"It was to set myself right with you on this point," I added, "that I have visited you at such an hour." She remained silent.

I took a few turns about the familiar room that was filled with the associations of many years.

The piano we chose together.
The copy of the Botticelli Tondo--the crowned Madonna of the Uffizi--I gave her in Florence.

We had ransacked London together to find the Chippendale bookcase; and on its shelves stood books that had formed a bond between us, and copies of old reviews containing my fugitive contributions.