Dion was moving again.  He came away from the window, crossed the room behind her, and opened the door.  He was going to fetch his letters.  She wrote hurriedly on.  He went out into the little hall and returned.

“I’m going to have a look at my letters,” he said, behind her.

She glanced round.

“What did you say?  Oh—­your letters.”

“They look pretty old,” he said, turning them over.

She saw Beatrice’s handwriting.

“Here’s one from Beatrice Daventry,” he added, in a hard voice.

“Does she often write to you?”

“She hasn’t written for a long time.”

He thrust a finger under the envelope.  Mrs. Clarke turned and again bent over her letter to Jimmy.

* * * * *

“Dinner is ready, Madame!”

Mrs. Clarke looked up from the writing-table at Sonia standing squarely in the doorway, then at the clock.

“Dinner!  But it’s only a quarter-past seven.”

“I thought you ordered it for a quarter-past seven, Madame,” replied Sonia, with quiet firmness.

“Oh, did I?  I’d forgotten.”

She pushed away the writing-paper and got up.

“D’you mind dining so early?” she asked Dion, looking at him for the first time since he had read his letters.

“No,” he replied, in a voice which had no color at all.  His face was set like a mask.

“Do you want to wash your hands?  If so, Sonia will bring you some hot water to the spare room.”

“Thanks, I’ll go; but I prefer cold water.”

He went out of the room carrying the opened letters with him.  After a moment Sonia came back.

“I hope I didn’t do wrong about dinner, Madame,” she said.  “I thought as Monsieur Leith came so early Madame would wish dinner earlier.”

Mrs. Clarke put her hand on her servant’s substantial arm.

“You always understand things, Sonia,” she said.  “I’m tired.  I mean to go to bed very early to-night.”

“But will he——?”

She raised her heavy eyebrows.

“I must rest to-night,” said Mrs. Clarke.  “I must, I must.”

“Let me tell him, then, if he—­”

“No, no.”

Mrs. Clarke put one hand to her lips.  She heard Dion in the hall.  When he came in she saw at once that he had been dashing cold water on his face.  His eyes fell before hers.  She could not divine what he had found in his letters or what was passing in his mind.

“Come to dinner,” she said.

And they went at once to the dining-room.