“Jim,” she said, “I told Doctor Mosely all about my affairs, and I simply spoiled his day for him and he dropped me. So I think I'll tell you.”
“Go to the other extreme, eh?” said Jim.
“Yes, I'm between the devil and the high-Church. I've no doubt I'm to blame, but I can't seem to stand the punishment with no change in sight. I've tried to, but I've got to the end of my string and—well—whether you can help me or not—I've got to talk or die. Do you mind if I run on?”
“God bless you, I'd be tickled to death.”
“It will probably only ruin your evening.”
“Help yourself. I'd rather have you wreck all my evenings than—than—”
He had begun well, which was more than usual. She did not expect him to finish. She thanked him with a look of more than gratitude.
“Jim,” she said, “I've found out that my husband is—well—there's a certain ex-dancer named L'Etoile, and he—she—they—”
Instead of being astounded, Dyckman was glum.
“Oh, you've found that out at last, have you? Maybe you'll learn before long that there's trouble in France. But of course you know that. You were over there. Why, before you came back he was dragging that animal around with him. I saw him with her.”