he saw Hadi Bey before him, self-possessed, firm,
with that curiously vivid look which had attracted the many women in
Court.

And Jimmy believed in his mother. Perhaps, until Dion's arrival in
Buyukderer, the boy had had reason in his belief--perhaps not. Dion was
very uncertain to-night.

A sort of cold curiosity was born in him. Until now he had accepted Mrs.
Clarke's presentment of herself to the world, which included himself,
as a genuine portrait; now he began to recall the long speech of Beadon
Clarke's counsel. But the man had only been speaking according to his
brief, had been only putting forth all the ingenuity and talent which
enabled him to command immense fees for his services. And Mrs. Clarke
had beaten him. The jury had said that she was not what he had asserted
her to be.

Suppose they had made a mistake, had given the wrong verdict, why
should that make any difference to Dion? He had definitely done with the
goodness of good women. Why should he fear the evil of a woman who was
bad? Perhaps in the women who were called evil by the respectable, or by
those who were temperamentally inclined to purity, there was more warm
humanity than the women possessed who never made a slip, or stepped
out of the beaten path of virtue. Perhaps those to whom much must be
forgiven were those who knew how to forgive.

If Mrs. Clarke really were what Beadon Clarke's counsel had suggested
that she was, how would it affect him? Dion pondered that question on
the quay. Mrs. Clarke's pale and very efficient hypocrisy, which he had
been able to observe at close quarters since he had been at Buyukderer,
might well have been brought into play against himself, as it had been
brought into play against the little world on the Bosporus and against
Jimmy.

Dion made up his mind that he would go to the pavilion that night. The
cold curiosity which had floated up to the surface of his mind enticed
him. He wanted to know whether he was among the victims, if they could
reasonably be called so, of Mrs. Clarke's delicate hypocrisy. He was
still thinking of Mrs. Clarke as a weapon; he was also thinking that
perhaps he did not yet know exactly what type of weapon she was. He must
find that out to-night. Not even the thought of Jimmy should deter him.

At a few minutes before eleven he went back to his rooms, unlocked his
despatch box, and drew out the key of the gate of Mrs. Clarke's garden.
He thrust it into his pocket and set out on