Rosamund had expressed to Daventry her pleasure in the result of the trial, but in the rather definitely detached manner which had always marked her personal aloofness from the whole business of the deciding of Mrs. Clarke’s innocence or guilt.  She had only spoken once again of the case to Dion, when he had come to tell her the verdict.  Then she had said how glad she was, and what a relief it must be to Mrs. Clarke, especially after the hesitation of the jury.  Dion had touched on Mrs. Clarke’s great self-possession, and—­Rosamund had begun to tell him how much better little Robin was.  He had not repeated to Rosamund Mrs. Clarke’s final words to him.  There was no necessity to do that just then.

Mrs. Clarke stayed at Hook Green till the end of August without making any attempt to know Rosamund.  By that time Dion had come to the conclusion that she had forgotten about the matter.  Perhaps she had merely had a passing whim which had died.  He was not sorry, indeed, he was almost actively glad, for he was quite sure Rosamund had no wish to make Mrs. Clarke’s acquaintance.  At the beginning of September, however, when he had just come back to work after a month in camp which had hardened him and made him as brown as a berry, he received the following note: 

“CLARIDGE’S HOTEL, 2 September, 1897

“DEAR Mr. LEITH,—­What of that charming project of bringing about a meeting between your wife and me?  Esme Darlington is always talking of her beauty and talent, and you know my love of the one and the other.  Beauty is the consolation of the world; talent the incentive to action stirring our latent vitality.  In your marriage you are fortunate; in mine I have been unfortunate.  You were very kind to me when things were tiresome.  I feel a desire to see your happiness.  I’m here arranging matters with my solicitor, and expect to be here off and on for several months.  Perhaps October will see you back in town, but if you happen to be in this dusty nothingness now, you might come and see me one day.—­Yours with goodwill,

“CYNTHIA CLARKE

“P.  S.—­My husband and I are separated, of course, but I have my boy a good deal with me.  He will be up with me to-morrow.  I very much want to take him to that physical instructor you spoke of to me.  I forget the name.  Is it Hopkins?”

As Dion read this note in the little house he felt the soft warm grip of Stamboul.  Rosamund and Robin were staying at Westgate till the end of September; he would go down there every week from Saturday till Monday.  It was now a Monday evening.  Four London days lay before him.  He put away the letter and resolved to answer it on the morrow.  This he did, explaining that his wife was by the sea and would not be back till the autumn.  He added that the instructor’s name was not Hopkins but Jenkins, and gave Mrs. Clarke the address of the gymnasium.  At the end of his short note he expressed his intention of calling at Claridge’s, but did not say when he would come.  He thought he would not fix the day and the hour until he had been to Westgate.  On a postcard Mrs. Clarke thanked him for Jenkins’s address, and concluded with “Suggest your own day, or come and dine if you like.  Perhaps, as you’re alone, you’ll prefer that.—­C.  C.”