“But then don’t you think she’ll win?”

“No one can tell.”

“In any case, she tells me she’s going back to live at Constantinople.”

“Madness!  Sheer madness!” said Mr. Darlington, almost piteously.  “I shall beg her not to.”

Dion suppressed a smile.  That day he had gained the impression that Mrs.
Clarke had a will of iron.

When he went up to say good-by to her, Daventry had already gone; he said he had work to do on the case.

“May I wish you success?” Dion ventured to say, as he took her hand.

“Thank you,” she answered.  “I think you must go in for athletic exercises, don’t you?”

Her eyes were fixed on the breadth of his chest, and then traveled to his strong, broad shoulders.

“Yes, I’m very keen on them.”

“I want my boy to go in for them.  It’s so important to be healthy.”

“Rather!”

He felt the Stamboul touch in her soft, hot hand.  As he let it go, he added: 

“I can give you the address of a first-rate instructor if your boy ever wants to be physically trained.  I go to him.  His name’s Jenkins.”

“Thank you.”

She was still looking at his chest and shoulders.  The expression of distress in her eyes seemed to be deepening.  But a tall man, Sir John Killigrew, one of her adherents, spoke to her, and she turned to give him her complete attention.

“I’ll walk with you, if you’re going,” said Canon Wilton’s strong voice in Dion’s ear.

“That’s splendid.  I’ll just say good-by to Mrs. Chetwinde.”

He found her by the tea-table with three or four men and two very smart women.  As he came up one of the latter was saying: 

“It’s all Lady Ermyntrude’s fault.  She always hated Cynthia, and she has a heart of stone.”

The case again!

“Oh, are you going?” said Mrs. Chetwinde.

She got up and came away from the tea-table.

“D’you like Cynthia Clarke?” she asked.

“Yes, very much.  She interests me.”

“Ah?”

She looked at him, and seemed about to say something, but did not speak.

“You saw her take my hand,” he said, moved by a sudden impulse.

“Did she?”

“We were talking about Stamboul.  She did it to show me——­” He broke off.  “I saw you felt, as I did, that no one but a through and through innocent woman could have done it, just now—­like that, I mean.”

“Of course Cynthia is innocent,” Mrs. Chetwinde said, rather coldly and very firmly.  “There’s Canon Wilton waiting for you.”

She turned away, but did not go back to the tea-table; as Dion went out of the room he saw her sitting down on the red sofa by Mrs. Clarke.

Canon Wilton and he walked slowly away from the house.  The Canon, who had some heart trouble of which he never spoke, was not allowed to walk fast; and to-day he was tired after his sermon at the Abbey.  He inquired earnestly about Rosamund and the child, and seemed made happy by the good news Dion was able to give him.