“In Seattle, as I alighted from the train, I saw my husband in the station with another woman.  I recognized her.  She was a friend of mine—­a very dear, kind, thoughtful friend of several years’ standing—­the only woman friend I had in the world.  I loved her dearly; you will understand when I tell you that she had frequently gone out of her way to be kind to me.  It struck me as strange that he had never admitted knowing her, although frequently he had heard me speak of her.  While I stood pondering the situation, he took her in his arms and kissed her good-by and boarded the train without seeing me.  I slipped out of the station without having been seen by either of them; but while I was waiting for a taxicab, my friend came out of the station, saw me, and rushed up to greet me.  It developed, in the course of our conversation following the usual commonplaces of greeting, that she had been down to the station to see her husband off on the train for San Francisco.”

Donald whistled softly.

“How did you manage to get away with it, Nan?” he demanded incredulously.

“All my life I have been used to doing without things,” she replied simply.  “I suppose that helped a little.  The shock was not so abrupt that I lost my presence of mind; you see, I had had a few minutes to adjust myself after seeing him kiss her in the station—­and just then the taxicab came up and I escaped.  Then I came home to the Sawdust Pile.  I wrote him, of course, and sent the letter by registered mail, in order to make certain he would receive it.  He did, but he did not answer.  There was no reason why he should, for he was quite safe.  I had assured him there was no necessity for worry on my account.”

“Of all the crazy, fool things for you to do!” Donald cried sharply.  “Why under the canopy did you deem it necessary to sacrifice yourself for him?  Surely you did not love him—­”

“I’m afraid I never loved him,” she interrupted.  “I—­I thought I did, although, if he hadn’t been away so frequently after our marriage, I would have learned to love him dearly, I think.”

“Just human nature,” Donald suggested.  “Something akin to what trapshooters and golfers call a mental hazard.”

“Of course he married me under an assumed name, Donald.”

“Did you ever see a marriage certificate?”

“Oh, yes; I had to sign it in the presence of the minister.”

Donald was relieved.

“Then, you great goose of a girl, you can clear your record any time you desire.  The minister forwarded the marriage certificate to the state capital, and it is registered there with the State Board of Health.  After registration, it was returned to the minister whose signature appeared on the certificate as the officiating clergyman.  The minister undoubtedly returned the certificate to your husband.”

“I never saw it again.”

“What if you did not?  You can procure a certified copy from the record in the county-clerk’s office or from the records of the State Board of Health.  Marriage records, old dear, are fairly well protected in our day and generation.”