“Worried? No, why should I have been? Lula Chandos and May Barclay had seen you in the automobile in town, and I knew you were high and dry somewhere.”
“High and dry,” she repeated.
“What?”
“Nothing. They said I had run off with Mr. Brent, didn't they?”
He laughed.
“Yes, there was some joking to that effect.”
“You didn't take it seriously?”
“No—why should I?”
She was appalled by his lack of knowledge of her. All these years she had lived with him, and he had not grasped even the elements of her nature. And this was marriage! Trixton Brent—short as their acquaintance had been—had some conception of her character and possibilities her husband none. Where was she to begin? How was she to tell him the episode in the automobile in order that he might perceive something of its sinister significance?
Where was she to go to be saved from herself, if not to him?