“Can you go on?” he said harshly.

“Of all the men who have cared for me you are the only man who has ever dared to interfere with my freedom,” she said.

Her voice had become almost raucous, and a faint dull red strangely discolored and altered her face.

“I will not permit it.  I shall go to Buyukderer, and I forbid you to follow me there.  Now it’s getting late and I’m tired.  Please go away.”

“Men who have cared for you!”

“Yes.  Yes.”

“What d’you mean by that?  D’you mean Brayfield?”

“Yes.”

“Have there been many others who have cared as Brayfield did?”

“Yes.”

“Hadi Bey was one of them, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“And Dumeny was another?”

“Yes.”

“Poor fellows!”

His lips were smiling, but his eyes looked dreadfully intent and searching.

“You made them suffer and gave them no reward.  I can see you doing it and enjoying it.”

“That’s untrue.”

“What is untrue?”

“To say that I gave them no reward.”

At this moment there was a tap on the door.

“Come in!” said Mrs. Clarke, in her ordinary voice.

Sonia opened the door and came in.

“Excuse me, Madame,” she said, “but you told me I was to bathe your hand.  If it is not bathed it will look horrible to-morrow.  I have the warm water all ready.”

She stood in front of her mistress, broad, awkward and yet capable.  Dion felt certain this woman meant to get rid of him because she was aware that her mistress wanted him to go.  He had always realized that Sonia knew Mrs. Clarke better than any other woman did.  As for himself—­she had never shown any feeling towards him.  He did not know whether she liked him or disliked him.  But now he knew that he disliked her.

He looked almost menacingly at her.

“Your mistress can’t go at present,” he said.  “Her hand is all right.  It was only a scratch.”

Sonia looked at her mistress.

“Sonia is quite right,” said Mrs. Clarke, getting up.  “And as the water is warm I will go.  Good-by.”

“I will stay here till you have finished,” he said, still looking at Sonia.

“It’s getting very late.  We might finish our talk to-morrow.”

“I will stay.”

After a slight pause Mrs. Clarke, whose face was still discolored with red, turned to the maid and said: 

“Go away, Sonia.”

Sonia went away very slowly.  At the door she stopped for a moment and looked round.  Then she disappeared, and the door closed slowly and as if reluctantly behind her.

“Now what did you mean?” Dion said.

He got up.

“What did you mean?”

“Simply this, that my husband ought to have won his case.”

“Ah!”

He stood with his hands hanging at his sides, looking impassive, with his head bent and the lids drooping over his eyes.  She waited—­for her freedom.  She did not mind the disgust which she felt like an emanation in the darkening room, if only it would carry him far enough in hatred of her.  Would it do that?