Richard, on his way up, had reached the head of the stairs. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Here you are! I asked Winchie where you were, and he said he didn't know. So I've been hunting all over the place for you. I want you to take a walk with me."
"Certainly," said she tranquilly. "I'm talking business with Basil. Go down and help Winchie finish his house, and we'll take him along. I'll come in a few minutes."
"All right!" said Dick cheerfully. He shouted out, "Hey, Gallatin, how's your grouch?" and descended the stairs, laughing as he went.
As she reëntered the sitting room, she said, with the quietness of the emotions that are too deep and too terrible for tumult, "Am I not 'expert'? How long do you think we could keep this sort of thing up without becoming—I tell you, Basil, looking within myself as I've lain in the dark, I've realized it takes decent people—people with nerves and imaginations and sense of right and wrong—to become frightful, if they once get on the down grade. Did you hear what he said about Winchie?"
"Yes," muttered Basil. He was at the desk, his elbows on it, his hands supporting his head.
"Winchie knew where I was. Why did he lie to his father? Already a liar!"
"I must go. You are right— But, Courtney—you must get a divorce."
"I've thought of that. On what ground? And how can I leave him alone—take Winchie away from him?"
"You must get a divorce."
"I think so, too," assented she. "But I will not lie to do it. I'm done with lies. I'll tell him."