I have never found the courage to tell you.

I am a married man.

The woman seated there is my wife.

And I love you." Edith put out her arms with a low cry and clasped me about the neck.
"Harold," she murmured, "my Harold." "Have I done wrong ?" I whispered.
"Only what I have done too," she answered.

"I, too, am married, Harold, and the man sitting there below, John Croyden, is my husband." With a wild cry such as a cave man might have uttered, I had leapt to my feet.
"Your husband!" I shouted.