Rosamund moved and looked up.  Then she got up from her chair.

“But—­but—­Robin’s——­”

She stopped.  Her eyes were fixed on Father Robertson.  He looked up and met her eyes, and she saw plainly the mystic in him.

“What do we know?” he said.  “What do we know of the effects of our actions?  Can we be certain that they are limited to this earth?  Is it well with the child?  I say we don’t know.  We dare not affirm that we know.  He loved his father, didn’t he?”

Rosamund looked stricken.  He let her go.  He could not say any more to her.

That evening Lady Ingleton called in Manxby Street and asked for Father Robertson.  He happened to be in and received her at once.

“I’ve had a note from Mrs. Leith,” she said.

“I am not surprised,” said Father Robertson.  “Indeed I expected it.”

“She wishes to see me to-morrow.  She writes that she will come to the hotel.  How have you persuaded her to come?”

“I don’t think I have persuaded her though I wish her to see you.  But I have told her of her husband’s infidelity.”

“You have told her——!”

Lady Ingleton stopped short.  She looked unusually discomposed, even nervous and agitated.

“I said you might,” she murmured.

“It was essential.”

“If Cynthia knew!” said Lady Ingleton.

“I mentioned no name.”

“She must have guessed.  It’s odd, when I told you I didn’t feel treacherous—­not really!  But now I feel a brute.  I’ve never done anything like this before.  It’s against all my code.  I’ve come here, done all this, and now I dread meeting Mrs. Leith.  I wish you could be there when she comes.”

She sent him a soft glance out of her Italian eyes.

“You make me feel so safe,” she added.

“You and she must be alone.  Remember this!  Mrs. Leith must go out to Constantinople.”

“Leave the Sisterhood!  Will she ever do that?”

“You came here with the hope of persuading her, didn’t you?”

“A hope was it?  A forlorn hope, perhaps.”

“Bring it to fruition.”

“But Cynthia!  If she ever knows!”

Suddenly Father Robertson looked stern.

“If what you told me is true——­”

“It is true.”

“Then she is doing the devil’s work.  Put away your fears.  They aren’t worthy of you.”

As she took his hand in the saying of good-by she said: 

“Your code is so different from ours.  We think the only possible thing to do—­where a friend is concerned—­is to shut the eyes and the lips, and to pretend, and to keep on always pretending.  We call that being honorable.”

“Poor things!” said Father Robertson.

But he pressed her hand as he said it, and there was an almost tender smile on his lips.

“But your love of truth isn’t quite dead yet,” he added, on the threshold of the door, as he let her out into the rain.  “You haven’t been able to kill it.  It’s an indomitable thing, thank God.”