"Evidently," said Courtney. She looked calmly at him, shifted her gaze. It happened to fall upon Winchie. The boy was frowning jealously into his plate. She colored. She never had the slightest self-consciousness about Basil with Richard, but only with the boy. However, the reminder soon passed in marvel at her amazing tranquillity. How could she be thus calm in face of such a blow? Had she really conquered her love? Had this sudden, unexpected news of his perfidy killed it all in an instant? Had she never loved him?
Richard had been talking, and she had been so absorbed she had not heard. Now he was holding a letter across the table toward her. Mechanically she reached out, took it, fixed her eyes upon it. "And Mrs. Torrey says," Richard was explaining, "that we ought to ask Cousin Helen here—for a few months at least—until she gets over her father's death."
"Wenona's no place for a girl in search of a husband."
"A husband!" exclaimed Richard. "Who said anything about a husband?"
"Now that her father's dead, with nothing but a small life insurance, she's got to marry."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"That's what Mrs. Torrey's saying between these lines." And she handed the letter back.
"Mrs. Torrey's a fine, noble old lady. Such sordid ideas never'd enter her head."
"Mrs. Torrey's a woman."
"And a good one—and so is Helen," maintained Richard. "Marrying's about the last idea in her head at present."