“Why do you say poor Beadon Clarke?” asked Dion abruptly.
That day he was at a great parting of the ways. He was concentrated upon himself and his own decision, so concentrated that the conventions meant little to him. He was totally unaware of the bruskness of such a question asked of a woman whom he had never seen before.
“One pities a thoroughly good fellow who does a thoroughly foolish thing. It was a very, very foolish thing to do to attack Cynthia.”
“I was in court during part of the trial.”
“Well, then, you know how foolish it was. Some people can’t be attacked with impunity.”
The inflexion of Lady Ingleton’s voice at that moment made Dion think of Mrs. Chetwinde. Once or twice Mrs. Chetwinde’s voice had sounded almost exactly like that when she had spoken of Mrs. Clarke.
“Especially people who are innocent,” he said.
“Naturally, as Cynthia was. Beadon Clarke made a terrible mistake, poor fellow.”
When Dion got up to go she again alluded to his staying on at Buyukderer, with an “if” attached to the allusion, and her dark eyes, which looked like an Italian’s, rested upon him with a soft, but very intelligent, scrutiny. He had an odd feeling that she had taken a liking to him, and yet that she did not wish him to stay on in Buyukderer.
“I don’t quite know what I am going to do,” he said.