I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. ’ ‘That I do not doubt,’ Gerald muttered drily, but added in a tone of intense satisfaction, ‘Then this husband is still in France? Excellent. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again.
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