"When?"
"There at the lake."
"Why do you think so?"
"Did you ever see one of those little toy spaniels—how they quiver and shiver all the time? I'm just as sensitive as that. You mustn't try to deceive me—ever! You mustn't say or act any of those hypocrisies of what some people call good taste, either. They're not necessary with me. They'd make me feel deceived. I might not confess I knew—and then—'The little rift within the lute.'"
"I guess I'll tell you," he said for the moment deeply impressed. "Yes, I will."
"Tell me everything—everything. There mustn't be any concealment—anything to lie hid away in the depths of some dark closet to rot and rot and infect the whole house." She suddenly lowered her head; and, as the full meaning of her words, the meaning she had not foreseen, reached him, he, too, became ill at ease.
Presently he said: "I didn't want to frighten you needlessly. When I saw Nanny—she was—just going up the steps of the porch."
Courtney's eyes widened and her face blanched. "You think—" she began when she could find voice.
"I couldn't tell which direction she had come from," he replied. "But it's no matter. She couldn't know."
Courtney remembered the darkness—how grateful she had been for its friendly aid. "No," said she resolutely. "She couldn't know."