“Poor, poor fellow!” she said. “I can’t bear to see him destroyed. Some men—well, they seem almost entirely body. But he’s so different!”
She got up and stood by the fire.
“I have seen Mrs. Leith,” she said. “I once heard her sing in London. She is extraordinarily beautiful. At that time she looked radiant. What did you say?”
“Please go on,” Father Robertson said, very quietly.
“And she had a wonderful expression of joyous goodness which marked her out from other women. You have a regard for her, and you are good. But you care for truth, and so I’m going to tell you the truth. She may be a good woman, but she has done a wicked action. Can’t you make her see it? Or shall I try to?”
“You wish to see her?”
“I am ready to see her.”
Father Robertson again looked down. He seemed to be thinking deeply, to be genuinely lost in thought. Lady Ingleton noticed this and did not disturb him. For some minutes he sat without moving. At last he looked up and put a question to Lady Ingleton which surprised her. He said:
“Are you absolutely certain that your friend Mrs. Clarke and Dion Leith have been what people choose to call lovers?”
“Have been and are—absolutely certain. I could not prove it, but I know it. He lives in Constantinople only for her.”