“Now,” said Miserrimus Dexter, “if you are ready, I am. You talk—I work. Please begin.”
I obeyed him, and began.
CHAPTER XXVIII. IN THE DARK.
WITH such a man as Miserrimus Dexter, and with such a purpose as I had in view, no half-confidences were possible. I must either risk the most unreserved acknowledgment of the interests that I really had at stake, or I must make the best excuse that occurred to me for abandoning my contemplated experiment at the last moment. In my present critical situation, no such refuge as a middle course lay before me—even if I had been inclined to take it. As things were, I ran risks, and plunged headlong into my own affairs at starting.
“Thus far, you know little or nothing about me, Mr. Dexter,” I said. “You are, as I believe, quite unaware that my husband and I are not living together at the present time.”
“Is it necessary to mention your husband?” he asked, coldly, without looking up from his embroidery, and without pausing in his work.
“It is absolutely necessary,” I answered. “I can explain myself to you in no other way.”
He bent his head, and sighed resignedly.
“You and your husband are not living together at the present time,” he resumed. “Does that mean that Eustace has left you?”