His manner demolished her suspicion. There might have been some sort of an affair between him and this English woman—perhaps had been. If so, it was a closed incident. "You asked about the divorce," said she: "The suit was begun, but it has gone over till the next term of court."
"Was it my fault?" he asked, apologetically. "I've missed my mail for nearly two months."
Her hands, clasped in her lap, were white at the knuckles. Her eyes, meeting his, had deep down an expression that also belied her calm manner and even voice. "I didn't want to take the last steps until we had decided about Winchie."
"Winchie," he said thoughtfully, his glance wandering to the lawn. The boy and Helen were resting now, seated at the edge of the lake. "There's where marriage differs from other business. When it goes bankrupt, children are assets that can't be liquidated.... What do you think ought to be done?"
"I admit you've got a share in him," replied she. "But you can't help seeing that he belongs with his mother."
"I do see it," he declared. "If I took him, what could I do with him? Helen'll marry before long. Then— Could there be anything worse for him than trusting him to the care of strangers? ... As for his traveling back and forth between his mother's house and his father's—that's a farce that could only end in some sort of calamity to his character.... I don't know what to say. I know I could trust you absolutely to protect him from any possible—unfortunate influences—but—" And there he halted.
She saw he was expecting her to realize that he meant the disadvantages of Basil as a stepfather. It was stupefying—simply stupefying—this calm attitude of his toward such terrible things—at least, they were things he had always regarded as terrible.
"Don't be so gloomy about it," said he, as if reading her thoughts. "I find I can think a great deal more effectively when I'm not trying to act like the best examples from fiction but am simply human and natural. Courtney, the world—at least, the intelligent people in it—have outgrown the old, ignorant, swashbuckling sort of thing. Of course, it still survives, and ignorant people and vain people still try to act on the prescriptions of yesterday—and all the literature still pretends that they are valid. But the truth is, men and women are getting enlightened. And we—you and I—are doing, not what looks best, but what is best. Winchie isn't a problem in a novel or a poem. He's an actuality. And I see plainly his chances are better with you—in any circumstances—than with me." To make sure that she should understand, he repeated, "In any circumstances."
Her eyes were full of tears. "Thank you," she said humbly. "Thank you."
He shrugged his shoulders. "For what? For not being a fool?" He swung round into the chair and leaned toward her. "There are some things we've got to say to each other. I went away to put off the saying until I was sure just where I stood. I am sure now. Do you— Shall we—begin?"