"We both wish to be free," continued Courtney, talking in the matter-of-fact way that was the surest preventive of hysteria in herself or in Helen. "So, he's gone away. I'll stay here a while, then— But I haven't made any plans. There's plenty of time."
A long silence, Helen gazing at Courtney, at Winchie racing along the paths with his red-striped wagon, at Courtney again, at trees and lake, as if she doubted the reality of all things. "I don't know what to say!" she exclaimed at last.
"Naturally," replied Courtney, "since there's nothing to say."
"I can't believe it!"
"Why not?"
"There aren't two people better suited to each other. Why, you never quarreled."
"That's it. I love contention. He wouldn't give it to me. So—pop goes the weasel."
"How can you! When your heart must be breaking." Helen put aside her stupefaction and brought the tears to her soft brown eyes in tardy conformity to the etiquette for nearest female friend on such occasions.
"Now, dear, please don't cry. You know that I know how easy it is for women to cry, and how little it means."
Helen hastily dried her eyes. "Oh, dear! It must be fixed up!" she said in a more natural tone, genuinely sympathetic and friendly. "He doesn't mean it. I'm sure he doesn't."