Upon the highest terrace of the latter, far above the house, between two magnificent cypresses, there stood a pavilion.  It was made of the wood of the plane tree, was painted dull green, had trees growing thickly at its back, and was partially concealed by a luxuriant creeper with deep orange-colored flowers, not unlike orange-colored jasmine, which Mrs. Clarke had seen first in Egypt and had acclimatized in Turkey.  The center of the front of this pavilion was open to the terrace, but could be closed by sliding doors which, when pushed back, fitted into the hollow walls on either side.  The interior was furnished with bookcases, divans covered with cushions and embroideries, coffee tables, and Eastern rugs.  Antique bronze lamps hung by chains from the painted ceiling, which was divided into lozenges alternately dull green and dull gold.  The view from this detached library was very beautiful.  Over the roof of the villa, beyond the broad white road and the quay, the long bay stretched out into the Bosporus.  Across its tranquil waters, and the waters beaten up into waves by the winds from the Black Sea, rose the shores of Asia, Beikos, Anadoli Kavak, Anadoli Fanar, with lines of hills and the Giant’s Mountain.  Immediately below, and stretching away to right and left, were the curving shores of Europe, with the villas and palaces of Buyukderer held between the blue sea and the tree-covered heights of Kabatash; the park of the Russian Palace, the summer home of Russia’s representative at the Sublime Porte, gardens of many rich merchants of Constantinople and of Turkish, Greek and Armenian magnates, and the fertile and well-watered country extending to Therapia, Stania and Bebek on the one hand, and to Rumili Kavak, with the great Belgrad forest behind it, and to Rumili Fanar, where the Bosporus flows into the Black Sea, on the other.

“Come up here whenever you like,” Mrs. Clarke said to Dion.  “You can ring at the side gate of the garden, and come up without entering the house or letting me know you are here.  I have my own sitting-room on the first floor of the villa next to my bedroom, the little blue-and-green room I showed you just now.  The books I’m reading at present are there.  No one will bother you, and you won’t bother any one.”

He thanked her, not very warmly, perhaps, but with a genuine attempt at real gratitude, and said he would come.  They walked up and down the terrace for a little while, in silence for the most part.  Before they went down he mentioned that he had been out rowing.

“I ride for exercise,” said Mrs. Clarke.  “You can easily hire a good horse here, but I have one of my own, Selim.  Nearly every afternoon I ride.”

“Were you riding the day before yesterday?” Dion asked.

“Yes, in the Kesstane Dereh, or Valley of Roses, as many people call it.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes.”