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Updated: May 12, 2025
'Now the time has come for you to tell me what I most want to know, she said. 'What is that? 'Why you went away. 'Oh, he murmured. She waited a minute. Then, 'Tell me, she urged. 'Do you remember Mary Isona? he asked. She glanced up at him suddenly, as if startled. 'Mary Isona? Yes, of course. 'Well, I was in love with her. 'You were in love with Mary Isona?
It was a letter Mary Isona had written to her, Margaret Kempton, the night before she died, more than thirty years ago. The writer recounted the many harsh circumstances of her life; but they would all have been bearable, she said, save for one great and terrible secret.
'I was very much in love with her. I have never got over it, I'm afraid. She gazed fixedly at the fire. Her lips were compressed. She saw a slender girl, in a plain black frock, with a sensitive, pale face, luminous, sad, dark eyes, and a mass of dark, waving hair Mary Isona, of Italian parentage, a little music teacher, whose only relation to the world Theodore Vellan lived in was professional.
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