"Very happy; yes, sir. They were just like lovers, sir, until her
death. They seemed just made for each other, sir," and the trite old
saying gathered a new dignity as he uttered it.
I paused a moment to consider. This, certainly, seemed to discredit
the theory that Holladay had ever had a liaison with any other woman,
and yet what other theory was tenable?
"There was nothing to mar their happiness that you know of? Of
course," I added, "you understand, Thompson, that I'm not asking these
questions from idle curiosity, but to get to the bottom of this
mystery, if possible."
"I understand, sir," he nodded. "No, there was nothing to mar their
happiness--except one thing."
"And what was that?"
"Why, they had no children, sir, for fifteen years and more. After
Miss Frances came, of course, that was all changed."
"She was born abroad?"
"Yes, sir; in France. I don't just know the town."
"But you know the date of her birth?"
"Oh, yes, sir--the tenth of June, eighteen seventy-six--we always
celebrated it."
"Mr. Holladay was with his wife at the time?"
"Yes, sir; he and his wife had been abroad nearly a year. His health
had broken down, and the doctor made him take a long vacation. He came
home a few months later, but Mrs. Holladay stayed on. She didn't get
strong again, some way.
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