he
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.

During the meal they talked because Mrs. Clarke exerted herself. She was
helped, perhaps, by her concealed excitement. She had never before felt
so excited, so almost feverishly alert in body and mind as she felt that
night, except at the climax of her divorce case. And she was waiting now
for condemnation or acquittal as she had waited then. It was horrible.
She was painfully conscious of a desperate strength in Dion. It was as
if he had grown abruptly, and she had as abruptly diminished. His savage
assertion about the past had impressed her disagreeably. It might be
true. He might really have succeeded in slaying his love for his wife.
If so, what chance had the woman who had taken him of regaining her
freedom of action. She was afraid to play her last card.

When dinner was over Dion said:

"Shall we be off?"

She did not ask where they were going; she had no need to ask. After a
moment's hesitation she said:

"Not just yet. Come into the drawing-room. You can smoke, and if you
like I'll play you something."

"All right."

They went into the drawing-room. It was dimly lighted. Blinds and
curtains were drawn. Dion sank down heavily in a chair.

"The cigarettes are there!"

"Yes, I see. Thanks."

A strange preoccupation seemed to be descending