After a minute Maurice, bending over her, saw that she was trying to speak.

Her lips seemed stiff and hardly able to form the words, but he made out, "Who is she ?" He hesitated a moment; but she saw that he _could_ answer, and her eyes insisted on her question.
"She is his wife," he answered; "they were married, I believe, a month or six weeks ago." Suddenly, at his words, the blood seemed to rise with one quick rush to her very temples.
"You knew," she said, "and would not tell me!" Then after her momentary anger came shame, bitter and intolerable, for her self-betrayal.

She bent down her face on her hands, but her whole figure shook with violent agitation.

Maurice suffered scarcely less.

His love for her gave him a comprehension of all, and a sympathy unspeakable with her pain.