n. She had
great courage and was naturally ruthless, yet for once she was beset
by indecision. She did not any longer feel sure that she could dominate
this man. She had bent him to her will when she took him; but could she
do so when she wished to get rid of him?

When she reached the house, on the second floor of which was her flat,
she found him there waiting for her.

"You must have walked very quickly, Dion," she said.

"No, I didn't," he replied bruskly. "You walked very slowly."

"I feel tired to-day."

"I thought you were never tired."

"Every woman is tired sometimes."

They began to ascend the staircase. There was no lift.

"Are you going out to-night?" she heard him say behind her.

"No. I shall go to bed early."

"I'll stay till then."

"You know you can't stay very late here."

She heard him laugh.

"When you've just said you are going to bed early!"

She said nothing more till they reached the flat. He followed her in and
put his hat down.

"Will you have tea?"

"No, thanks; nothing."

"Go into the drawing-room. I'll come in a moment."

She left him and went into her bedroom.

He waited for her in the drawing-room. At first he sat down. The room
was full of the scent of flowers, and he remembered the strong flowery
scent which had greeted him when he visited the villa at Buyukderer
for the first time. How long ago that seemed--aeons ago! A few minutes
passed, registered by the ticking of a little clock of exquisite bronze
work on the mantelpiece. She did not come. He felt restless. He always
felt restless in Constantinople. Now he got up and walked about the
room, turning sharply from time to time, pausing when he turned, then
resuming his walk. Once, as he turned, he found himself exactly opposite
to a mirror. He stared into it and saw a man still young, but lined,
with sunken eyes, a mouth drooping and bitter, a head on which the dark
hair was no longer thick and springy. His hair had retreated from the
temples, and this fact had changed his appearance, had lessened his good
looks, and at the same time had given to his face an odd suggestion
of added intellectuality which was at war with the plain stamp of
dissipation imprinted upon it. Even in repose his face was almost
horribly expressive.

As he stared into the glass he thought:

"If I cut off my mustache I should look like a tragic actor who was a
thorough bad lot."

He turned away, frowning, and resumed his walk. Presen