At the last word her face clouded with an expression of absolute bewilderment, and her eyes widened as she gazed at me.
"Your husband," I repeated. "Mr. Weighborne."
She contemplated me as though I were a new and rather interesting variety of maniac, then her laugh was long and delicious. Her clouded eyes cleared and danced like skies in which the sun has suddenly burst through rain.
"Oh," she said finally. "I understand now." Once more her face grew grave and she added with a catch in her voice.
"For Heaven's sake," I implored, "tell me what you understand! As for me, I understand nothing."
"Why, you totally unspeakable idiot," she explained, as though she had known me always, and as though we had long been close comrades, "I haven't any husband--yet. That's my brother. Didn't you know that?"
I stood at gaze, dazed, stupefied, open-mouthed; every thing that denotes the gawky fool. Then I dropped fervently on my knees at her feet and shamelessly seized her hands in mine and kissed them. She made no effort to release them and I crushed them greedily while my tongue could find no words, until, as I afterward learned, her rings cut into the flesh.
"But," I stammered finally, "you are Frances Weighborne. His wife is Frances Weighborne. Bob Maxwell told me--"
She laughed again, and Weighborne's heavy breathing became almost a snore. After all, first impressions are best. Weighborne was a capital fellow, one could not help liking him.
"Correct," said the lady indulgently, as though she were teaching a small boy his primer lessons. "I am Frances Weighborne. My sister-in-law was also christened Frances in baptism, and acquired the surname of Weighborne in matrimony. There may, so far as I know, be various other Frances Weighbornes. We have never copyrighted the name."
"Oh, my God!" I groaned helplessly. "What an unspeakable imbecile I've been--but you're wrong, dearest, you _are_ the only one."
"Do you think it necessary to swear about it?" she inquired. "And are you now quite certain that I'm the right one?"
"There isn't any time to swear," I assured her, "there is so infinitely much to say--but not here. Come out under the stars, where one can breathe. Give me five minutes. Unless I speak now I shall die of suppressed emotion. All my life I've been a supposedly extinct volcano. I'm no longer extinct." I halted my rush of words; then added, "Yes, you're the right one." I rose and, still holding her hands, lifted her to her feet. At the door, with my hand on the latch, I paused.