o Cynthia, and take us to tea somewhere--can you?" said
Mrs. Chetwinde.

"Of course, with pleasure."

"Your Rosamund----?"

Her eyes were on him for a moment.

"She won't expect me at any particular time."

"Mr. Daventry can come too."

Dion never forgot their difficult exit from the court. It made him feel
ashamed for humanity, for the crowd which frantically pressed to stare
at a woman because perhaps she had done things which were considered
by all right-minded people to be disgusting. Mrs. Clarke and her little
party of friends had to be helped away by the police. When at length
they were driving away towards Claridge's Hotel, Dion was able once
more to meet the eyes of his companions, and again he was amazed at
the self-possession of Mrs. Clarke. Really she seemed as composed, as
completely mistress of herself, as when he had first seen her standing
near the statue of Echo in the drawing-room of Mrs. Chetwinde.

"You haven't been in court before to-day, have you?" she said to Dion.

"No."

"Why did you come to-day?"

"Well, I----" He hesitated. "I promised Mr. Daventry to come to-day."

"That was it!" said Mrs. Clarke, and she looked out of the window.

Dion felt rather uncomfortable as he spoke to Mrs. Chetwinde and left
further conversation with Mrs. Clarke to Daventry; but when they were
all in a quiet corner of the tearoom at Claridge's, a tea-table before
them and a band playing softly at a distance, he was more at his ease.
The composure of Mrs. Clarke perhaps conveyed itself to him. She spoke
of the case quite naturally, as a guilty woman surely could not possibly
have spoken of it--showing no venom, making no attack upon her accusers.

"It's all a mistake," she said, "arising out of stupidity, out of the
most widespread and, perhaps, the most pitiable and dangerous lack in
human nature."

"And what's that?" asked Daventry, rather eagerly.

"I expect you know."

He shook his head.

"Don't you?" she asked of Dion, spreading thinly some butter over a
piece of dry toast.

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Cynthia means the lack of power to read character, the lack of
psychological instinct," drifted from the lips of Mrs. Chetwinde.

"Three-quarters of the misunderstandings and miseries of the world come
from that," said Mrs. Clarke, looking at the now buttered toast. "If my
mother-in-law and my husband had any psychological faculty they would
never have mistaken my unconventionality, which I sha