I spent several days in this state. Needless to say, my breast was heavy the whole while with apprehension. I knew full well that I must, somehow, make amends with K. To make matters worse, Okusan's manner and the daughter's comportment were a constant prod at my conscience. There was no telling when Okusan, who lacked the reserve typical of women, might spill all to K at the dinner table. It was also quite possible that the daughter's bearing and behavior, which now to me seemed noticeably changed, could serve to sow seeds of suspicion in his mind. I had to disclose to him, somehow, my new connection to this family. This struck me, however, in light of my own moral shortcomings, as the hardest thing in the world to do.
I thought about asking Okusan to find some occasion to tell him. This would, of course, be in my absence. The facts of the matter, though, even if conveyed indirectly rather than directly, were no less shameful. Furthermore, whatever rationalization I might scheme up, Okusan was unlikely to convey it to K without due explanation on my part. To come clean, in order to secure her assistance, would mean exposing my own shortcomings to the young lady of my affections, as well as to my future mother-in-law. In my mind, I saw this as an indelible stain on my future credibility. The prospect of losing even an iota of trust in the eyes of my bride, before we were yet wed, was utterly abhorrent.
In short, I was a wretch who'd set out on the narrow path of virtue, lost his footing, and fallen into the mire. Either that, or I was an underhanded schemer. This conundrum, though, to this point, was a secret shared by myself and heaven alone. I stood in predicament. The only way to regain my footing and retake the narrow path was through confession of my misdeeds to those around me. I was loath to confess. At the same time, I was loath to remain in the mire. I was paralyzed, wedged between a rock and a hard place.