Nora crackled the certificate in her fingers and stared unseeingly at it
for some time. "I met him first in Rangoon," she began slowly, without
raising her eyes.
"When you went around the world on your own?"
"Yes. Oh, don't worry. I was always able to take care of myself."
"An Irish idea," answered Harrigan complacently.
"I loved him, father, with all my heart and soul. He was not only big and
strong and handsome, but he was kindly and tender and thoughtful. Why, I
never knew that he was rich until after I had promised to be his wife.
When I learned that he was the Edward Courtlandt who was always getting
into the newspapers, I laughed. There were stories about his escapades.
There were innuendoes regarding certain women, but I put them out of my
mind as twaddle. Ah, never had I been so happy! In Berlin we went about
like two children. It was play. He brought me to the Opera and took me
away; and we had the most charming little suppers. I never wrote you or
mother because I wished to surprise you."
"You have. Go on."
"I had never paid much attention to Flora Desimone, though I knew that she
was jealous of my success. Several times I caught her looking at Edward in
a way I did not like."
"She looked at him, huh?"
"It was the last performance of the season. We were married that
afternoon. We did not want any one to know about it. I was not to leave
the stage until the end of the following season. We were staying at the
same hotel, with rooms across the corridor. This was much against his
wishes, but I prevailed."
"I see."
"Our rooms were opposite, as I said. After the performance that night I
went to mine to complete the final packing. We were to leave at one for
the Tyrol. Father, I saw Flora Desimone come out of his room."
Harrigan shut and opened his hands.
"Do you understand? I saw her. She was laughing. I did not see him. My
wedding night! She came from his room. My heart stopped, the world
stopped, everything went black. All the stories that I had read and heard
came back. When he knocked at my door I refused to see him. I never saw
him again until that night in Paris when he forced his way into my
apartment."
"Hang it, Nora, this doesn't sound like him!"
"I saw her."
"He wrote you?"
"I returned the letters, unopened."
"That wasn't square. You might have been wrong."
"He wrote five letters. After that he went to India, to Africa and back to
India, where he seemed to find consolation enough."
Harrigan laid it to his lack of normal vision, but to his single optic
there was anything but misery in her beautiful blue eyes. True, they
sparkled with tears; but that signified nothing: he hadn't been married
these thirty-odd years without learning that a woman weeps for any of a
thousand and one reasons.