‘But this is different. Suppose someone recognised me? As your wife I should have to entertain your friends, your fellow lawyers perhaps. Suppose one of the ladies I used to open the door to at the Freeman’s house happened to meet your mother, or come across us at a gathering of some sort, and knew who I was.’

‘That’s very unlikely. In my experience, people see what they expect to see. Why should anyone associate the respectable, well-dressed wife of a professional man with a little girl they probably hardly looked at years earlier? And if anyone said anything, you could laugh it off. “How droll! Fancy confusing me with a girl like that! I wonder what her name was.”’

‘I’m not sure I could do that,’ May said. ‘And there are people who knew me in the workhouse. Patty, for instance. We grew up there together.’

‘She wouldn’t give you away, would she?’

‘She wouldn’t mean to, but she does gossip. She might tell someone, in confidence, and they might pass it on. And what about Mr Freeman? He knows my history, but he doesn’t know we have been seeing each other. I don’t think he would approve.’

‘Why should that matter? I know you owe him a debt of gratitude, but that shouldn’t rule your life.’ May shook her head and sighed and he went on, ‘If you are really worried, once I’ve completed my articles, we could move away. I could get a job somewhere else, where nobody knew us, Chester perhaps, or Manchester.’

‘It’s not just that,’ May said. ‘You say that it doesn’t make any difference to the way you feel about me. But it does. You don’t want to be married to a workhouse girl. You want me to be someone I’m not. I know you say I’m still the same person, but now that you know I’ve lied to you, you will never feel quite the same about me. If we marry, we shall always have that hanging over us.’ She got up. ‘We both need to think about this. When you wake up tomorrow you may find that you do feel differently. And I have to decide if I can ever live up to what you need in a wife. I think, perhaps, we should not see each other for a while, until we have both had time to work out what we really feel.’

He jumped up and caught her in his arms. ‘Don’t say that! Please, May. I can’t live like this, not knowing. I do love you! Nothing can change that.’

‘You say that now,’ she said, detaching herself from his hold, ‘but I’m afraid you will regret it in the end.’

‘No! Listen, we can’t part like this. You must give me some hope. Say you’ll meet me next Sunday.’