She got up and stood by the fire.

“I have seen Mrs. Leith,” she said.  “I once heard her sing in London.  She is extraordinarily beautiful.  At that time she looked radiant.  What did you say?”

“Please go on,” Father Robertson said, very quietly.

“And she had a wonderful expression of joyous goodness which marked her out from other women.  You have a regard for her, and you are good.  But you care for truth, and so I’m going to tell you the truth.  She may be a good woman, but she has done a wicked action.  Can’t you make her see it?  Or shall I try to?”

“You wish to see her?”

“I am ready to see her.”

Father Robertson again looked down.  He seemed to be thinking deeply, to be genuinely lost in thought.  Lady Ingleton noticed this and did not disturb him.  For some minutes he sat without moving.  At last he looked up and put a question to Lady Ingleton which surprised her.  He said: 

“Are you absolutely certain that your friend Mrs. Clarke and Dion Leith have been what people choose to call lovers?”

“Have been and are—­absolutely certain.  I could not prove it, but I know it.  He lives in Constantinople only for her.”

“And you think he has deteriorated?”

“Terribly.  I know it.  The other day he looked almost degraded; as men look when they let physical things get absolute domination over them.  It’s an ugly subject, but—­you and I know of these things.”

In her voice there was a sound of delicate apology.  It was her tribute to the serene purity of which she was aware in this man.

Again he seemed lost in thought.  She trusted in his power of thought.  He was a man—­she was certain of it—­who would find the one path which led out of the maze.  His unself-conscious intentness was beautiful in its unconventional simplicity, and was a tribute to her sincerity which she was subtle enough to understand, and good woman enough to appreciate.  He was concentrated not upon her but upon the problem which was troubling her.

“I am very glad you have come to Liverpool,” he said at length.  “Very glad.”

He smiled, and she, without exactly knowing why, smiled back at him.  And as she did so she felt extraordinarily simple, almost like a child.

“How long are you going to stay?”

“Till I know whether I can do any good,” she said, “till I have done it, if that is possible.”

“Without mentioning any names, may I, if I think it wise, tell Mrs. Leith of the change in her husband?”

“Oh, but would it be wise to say exactly what the nature of the change is?  I’ve always heard that she is a woman with ideals, an exceptionally pure-natured woman.  She might be disgusted, even revolted, perhaps, if—­”

“Forgive me!” Father Robertson interrupted, rather abruptly.  “What was your intention then?  What did you mean to tell Mrs. Leith if you saw her?”