d
Dion.

"It has all come about through her unconventionality." He pulled his
beard and lifted his ragged eyebrows. "It really is much wiser
for innocent people, such as Cynthia, to keep a tight hold on the
conventions. They have their uses. They have their place in the scheme.
But she never could see it, and look at the result."

"But then don't you think she'll win?"

"No one can tell."

"In any case, she tells me she's going back to live at Constantinople."

"Madness! Sheer madness!" said Mr. Darlington, almost piteously. "I
shall beg her not to."

Dion suppressed a smile. That day he had gained the impression that Mrs.
Clarke had a will of iron.

When he went up to say good-by to her, Daventry had already gone; he
said he had work to do on the case.

"May I wish you success?" Dion ventured to say, as he took her hand.

"Thank you," she answered. "I think you must go in for athletic
exercises, don't you?"

Her eyes were fixed on the breadth of his chest, and then traveled to
his strong, broad shoulders.

"Yes, I'm very keen on them."

"I want my boy to go in for them. It's so important to be healthy."

"Rather!"

He felt the Stamboul touch in her soft, hot hand. As he let it go, he
added:

"I can give you the address of a first-rate instructor if your boy ever
wants to be physically trained. I go to him. His name's Jenkins."

"Thank you."

She was still looking at his chest and shoulders. The expression of
distress in her eyes seemed to be deepening. But a tall man, Sir John
Killigrew, one of her adherents, spoke to her, and she turned to give
him her complete attention.

"I'll walk with you, if you're going," said Canon Wilton's strong voice
in Dion's ear.

"That's splendid. I'll just say good-by to Mrs. Chetwinde."

He found her by the tea-table with three or four men and two very smart
women. As he came up one of the latter was saying:

"It's all Lady Ermyntrude's fault. She always hated Cynthia, and she has
a heart of stone."

The case again!

"Oh, are you going?" said Mrs. Chetwinde.

She got up and came away from the tea-table.

"D'you like Cynthia Clarke?" she asked.

"Yes, very much. She interests me."

"Ah?"

She looked at him, and seemed about to say something, but did not speak.

"You saw her take my hand," he said, moved by a sudden impulse.

"Did she?"

"We were talking about Stamboul. She did it to show me----" He broke
off. "I saw you felt, as I did, that no