“Well, coming to our dinner wouldn’t have prevented that—­only eight till ten-thirty.”

“I don’t think, Guy, you at all understand Rosamund’s feeling for Robin,” said Dion, with a sort of dry steadiness.

“Probably not, being a man.”

“Perhaps a father can understand better.”

“Better?  It seems to me one either does understand a thing or one doesn’t understand it.”

There was a not very attractive silence which Daventry broke by saying: 

“Then you think if Beattie and I give another dinner at the Carlton—­a piece of reckless extravagance, but we are made on entertaining!—­Robin won’t be ill again?”

“Another dinner?  You’ll be ruined.”

“I’ve got several more briefs.  Would Robin be ill?”

“How the deuce can any one know?”

“I’ll hazard a guess.  He would be ill.”

Dion reddened.  There was sudden heat not only in his cheeks but also about his heart.

“I didn’t know you were capable of talking such pernicious rubbish!” he said.

“Let’s prove whether it’s rubbish or not.  Beattie will send Rosamund another dinner invitation to-morrow, and then we’ll wait and see what happens to Robin’s health.”

“Guy, I don’t want to have a quarrel with you.”

“A quarrel?  What about?”

“If you imply that Rosamund is insincere, is capable of acting a part, we shall quarrel.  Robin was really ill.  Rosamund fully meant to go to your dinner.  She bought a new dress expressly for it.”

“Forgive me, old Dion, and please don’t think I was attacking Rosamund.  No.  But I think sometimes the very sweetest and best women do have their little bit of insincerity.  To women very often the motive seems of more importance than the action springing from it.  I had an idea that perhaps Rosamund was anxious not to hurt some one’s feelings.”

“Whose?”

After a slight hesitation Daventry said: 

“Mrs. Clarke’s.”

“Did Mrs. Clarke know that Rosamund accepted to go to your dinner?” asked Dion abruptly, and with a forcible directness that put the not unastute Daventry immediately on his guard.

“What on earth has that to do with it?”

“Everything, I should think.  Did she?”

“No,” said Daventry.

“Then how could—?” Dion began.  But he broke off, and added more quietly: 

“Why are you so anxious that Rosamund should know Mrs. Clarke?”

“Well, didn’t Mrs. Clarke ages ago express a wish to know Rosamund if the case went in her favor?”

“Oh, I—­yes, I fancy she did.  But she probably meant nothing by it, and has forgotten it.”

“I doubt that.  A woman who has gone through Mrs. Clarke’s ordeal is generally hypersensitive afterwards.”

“But she’s come out splendidly.  Everybody believes in her.  She’s got her child.  What more can she want?”

“As she’s such a great friend of ours I think it must seem very odd to her not knowing Rosamund, especially as she’s good friends with you.  D’you mind if we ask Rosamund to meet her again?”