ventually succeeded in breaking away from those who were
beginning to involve her in weariness or to disgust her. There had
sometimes been perilous moments, painful scenes, bitter recriminations.
But by the exercise of her indomitable power of will, helped by her
exceptional lack of scruple, she had always managed to accomplish her
purpose. She had always found hitherto that she was more pitiless,
and therefore more efficient, than anyone opposed to her in a severe
struggle of wills. But Dion Leith was beginning to cause her serious
uneasiness. She had known from the beginning of their acquaintance that
he was an exceptional man; since his tragedy she had realized that the
exceptional circumstances of his life had accentuated his individuality.
In sorrow, in deterioration, he had broken loose from restraint. She had
helped to make him what he had now become, the most difficult man she
had ever had to deal with. When he had crossed the river to her he
had burnt all the boats behind him. If he had sometimes been weak in
goodness, in those former days long past, in what he considered
as evil--Mrs. Clarke did not see things in white and black--he had
developed a peculiar persistence and determination which were very like
strength.

Looking back, Mrs. Clarke realized that the definite change in Dion,
which marked the beginning of a new development, dated from the night in
the garden at Buyukderer when Jimmy had so nearly learnt the truth. On
that night she had forced Dion to save her reputation with her child
by lying and playing the hypocrite to a boy who looked up to him and
trusted in him. Dion had not forgotten his obedience. Perhaps he hated
her because of it in some secret place of his soul. She was sure that
he intended to make her pay for it. He had obeyed her in what she
considered as a very trifling matter. (For of course Jimmy had to be
deceived.) But since then he had often shown a bitter, even sometimes a
brutal, disposition to make her obey him. She could not fully understand
the measure of his resentment because she had none of his sense of honor
and did not share his instinctive love of truth. But she knew he had
suffered acutely in tricking and lying to Jimmy.

On that night, then, he had burnt his boats. She herself had told him
to do it when she had said to him, "Give yourself wholly to me." She was
beginning to regret that she had ever said that.

At first, in her perversity, she had curiously enjoyed D