“You play that wonderfully well,” Dion said, with a sort of hard recognition of her merit, but with no enthusiasm.  “Do you know that there’s something damnably competent in you?”

She stood looking down on him.

“I’m very glad there is.  I don’t care to bungle what I undertake.”

“I believe I knew that the first time I saw you, standing by Echo.  You held my hand that day.  Do you remember?”

He laughed faintly.

“No, I don’t remember.”

“The hand of Stamboul was upon me then.  By God, we are under the yoke.  It was fated then that you should destroy me.”

“Destroy you?”

“Yes.  What’s the good of what lies between us?  You’ve destroyed me.  That’s why you want to get rid of me.  Your instinct tells you the work is done, and you’re right.  But you must stick to the wreckage.  After all, it’s your wreckage.”

“No.  A man can only destroy himself,” she said, with cold defiance.

“Don’t let’s argue about it.  The thing’s done—­done!”

In his voice there was a sound of almost wild despair, but his face preserved its hard, mask-like look.

“And there’s no returning from destruction,” he added.  “Those who try to fancy there is are just fools.”

He looked up at her as she stood before him, and seemed suddenly struck by the expression on her face.

“Who’s to be the one to destroy you?” he said.  “D’you think the Unknown God has singled me out for the job?  Or do you really expect to escape scot-free after making the sign of the cross over so many lost souls.”

“The sign of the cross?”

“Yes.  Don’t you remember when I told you of Brayfield’s death?  You’ve never given him a thought since, I suppose.  But I’ll make you keep on thinking about me.”

“What has happened to-night?” she asked sharply.

“Happened?”

“To make you talk like this?”

“Nothing has happened.”

“That’s not true.  Since you came into the house you’ve quite changed.”

“Merely because I’ve been reckoning things up, taking stock of the amount of damage that’s been done.  It’ll have to be paid for, I suppose.  Everything’s paid for in the end, isn’t it?  When are you going to England?”

“I didn’t say it was absolutely decided.”

“No; but it is.  I want to know the date, so that I may pack up to accompany you.  It will be jolly to see Jimmy again.  I shall run down to Eton and take him out.”

“I am not going to allow you to do me any harm.  Because lately I’ve given in to you sometimes, you mustn’t think you can make a slave of me.”

“And you mustn’t think you’ll get rid of me in one way if you can’t in another.  This English project is nothing but an attempt to give me the slip.  You thought I couldn’t face England, so you chose England as the place you would travel to.  You’ve never had a letter from your lawyer, and there’s no reason why you should go to England on business.  But I can face England.  I’ve never done anything there that I’m ashamed of.  My record there is a clean one.”