Again he looked at the distant minarets lifted towards the blue near the way of the sea. But he said nothing. She shut her sun umbrella, laid it on the ground beside her, pulled off her gloves and spread them out on her knees slowly. She seemed to be hesitating; for she looked down and for a moment she knitted her brows. Then she said;
“Tell me why you came to Constantinople.”
“I couldn’t.”
“If I hadn’t met you in the street by chance, would you have come to see me?”
“I don’t think I should.”
“And yet it was I who willed you to come here.”
Dion did not seem surprised. There was something remote in him which perhaps could not draw near to such a simple commonplace feeling in that moment. He had gone out a long way, a very long way, from the simple ordinary emotions which come upon, or beset, normal men living normal lives.
“Did you?” he asked. “Why?”
“I thought I could do something for you. I began last night.”
“What?”