“His—­his misery has made such an impression upon her that she felt obliged to come here.  She sent for me.  But her real object in coming was to see you, if possible.  Will you see her?”

“No, no; I can’t do that.  I don’t know her.”

“I think I ought to tell you what she said.  She asked me if you had ever understood how much your husband loves you.  Her exact words were, ’Does his wife know how he loves her?  Can she know it?  Can she ever have known it?’”

All the red had died away from Rosamund’s face.  She had become very pale.  Her eyes were steady.  She sat without moving, and seemed to be listening with fixed, even with strained, attention.

“And then she went on to tell me something which might seem to a great many people to be quite contradictory of what she had just said—­and she said it with the most profound conviction.  She told me that your husband has fallen very low.”

“Fallen——?” Rosamund said, in a dim voice.

“Just before she left Constantinople she saw him in Stamboul by chance.  She said that he had the dreadful appearance that men have when they are entirely dominated by physical things.”

“Dion!” she said.

And there was sheer amazement in her voice now.

After an instant she added: 

“I don’t believe it.  It wasn’t Dion.”

“I must tell you something more,” said Father Robertson painfully.  “Lady Ingleton knows that your husband has been unfaithful to you; she knows the woman with whom he has been unfaithful.  That unfaithfulness continues.  So she affirms.  And in spite of that, she asks me whether you can know how much your husband loves you.”

While he had been speaking he had been looking down.  Now he heard a movement, a rustling.  He looked up quickly.  Rosamund was going towards the door.

“Please—­don’t—­don’t!” she whispered, turning her face away.

And she went out.

Father Robertson did not follow her.

Early in the following morning he received this note: 

“ST. MARY’S SISTERHOOD, LIVERPOOL, Thursday

“DEAR FATHER ROBERTSON,—­I don’t think I can see Lady Ingleton.  I am almost sure I can’t.  Perhaps she has gone already.  If not, how long does she intend to stay here?

“R.  L.”

The Father communicated with Lady Ingleton, and that evening let Rosamund know that Lady Ingleton would be in Liverpool for a few more days.

When Rosamund read his letter she wished, or believed that she wished, that Lady Ingleton had gone.  Then this matter which tormented her would be settled, finished with.  There would be nothing to be done, and she could take up her monotonous life again and forget this strange intrusion from the outside world, forget this voice from the near East which had told such ugly tidings.  Till now she had not even known where Dion was.  She knew he had given up his