"If for Ludovic's sake, why not for hers?" Dickie asked.
"Because two halves don't always make a whole in marriage," Katherine said.
"You are as great an idealist as ever!"—He paused, then raised himself, sitting upright, speaking with a certain passion.
"Mother, will you take me away, away from every one, at once, just as soon as possible? I never want to see this room, or this house, or Naples again. The climax was reached here of disillusion, and of iniquity, and of degradation. Don't ask what it was. I couldn't tell you. And, mercifully, only one person, whose lips are sealed in self-defense, knows exactly what took place besides myself. But I want to get away, away alone with you, who are perfectly unsullied and compassionate, and who have forgiven me, and who still can love. Will you come? Will you take me? The yacht is all ready for sea."
"Yes," Katherine said.
"I asked this morning who was here with you, and Powell told me. I can't see them, mother, simply I can't! I haven't the nerve. I haven't the face. Can you send them away?"
"Yes," Katherine said.
Richard's eyes had grown dangerously bright. A spot of colour burned on either cheek. Katherine leaned over him.
"My dearest," she declared, "you have talked enough."
"Yes, they're beginning to play again, I can hear the rattle of the dice.—Mother take me away, take me out to sea, away from this dreadful place.—Ah! you poor darling, how horribly selfish I am!—But let me get out to sea, and then later, take me home—to Brockhurst. The house is big. Nobody need see me."