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"You wish to frighten me." She got up, and began to draw on her dove-colored Swedish kid gloves. "Tippie," she said to Mrs. Chetwinde, "I must go home now and have a little rest." Only then did Dion realize how marvelously she was bearing a tremendous strain. He began to admire her prodigiously. When he said good-by to her under the great porch he couldn't help asking: "Are your nerves of steel?"
Chetwinde told me that you were made of iron." Mrs. Clarke sent him a curious keen glance of intense and almost lambent inquiry, but he did not notice it. The strong interest that notices things was absent from him. Would it ever be in him again? "I suppose I have a great deal of stamina," she said casually. "Well, sit down, and I'll try to explain."
I hear she's the most delightful woman in London, and extraordinarily beautiful. Isn't she?" "I think she is beautiful," Dion said simply. And then they talked about Robin, while Mrs. Chetwinde and Daventry discussed some question of the day. Before they parted Dion could not help saying: "I want to ask you something." "Yes?" "Why do you feel sure that the trial will end as it ought to end?
Dion saw the Judge frown. Slight applause broke out in the court, but it was fitful and uncertain and almost immediately died away. Mrs. Chetwinde said in a low voice, almost as if to herself: "Cynthia has got what she wants again."
The fact that the jury had publicly announced their disagreement would be given out to all the world by the newspapers, and must surely go against Mrs. Clarke even if she got a verdict ultimately. "Do you think there is any chance still?" he said to Mrs. Chetwinde. "Oh, yes. As I told you, Cynthia always manages to get what she wants."
Daventry?" she said, with an odd little stress of emphasis on the name. "Of course I should hate it too. Any man who feels a woman is innocent " He broke off. She said nothing, and went on eating her little sandwiches as if she rather disliked them. "Mrs. Chetwinde, do tell me. I believe you've got an extraordinary flair will she win?" "My dear boy, now how can I know?"
Do you understand?" Mrs. Chetwinde's vague eyes had been on them during this little episode. Dion had had time to see that, and to think, "Now, at such a time, no one but an absolutely innocent woman would do in public what Mrs. Clarke is doing to me." Mrs. Chetwinde, he felt sure, full of all worldly knowledge, must be thinking the very same thing. "Yes," he said. "I think I do.
To-night she looked more haggard even than usual, no doubt because of the journey from Paris. But Mrs. Chetwinde had once said of her: "Cynthia is made of iron." Could that be true?
Chetwinde leaned forward and fixed her eyes upon him, closing her fingers tightly on the fan she had brought with her. Sir John spoke with an earnestness and conviction which at certain moments rose almost to passion, as he drew the portrait of a woman whose brilliant mind and innocent nature had led her into the unconventional conduct which her enemies now asserted were wickedness.
"You saw her take my hand," he said, moved by a sudden impulse. "Did she?" "We were talking about Stamboul. She did it to show me " He broke off. "I saw you felt, as I did, that no one but a through and through innocent woman could have done it, just now like that, I mean." "Of course Cynthia is innocent," Mrs. Chetwinde said, rather coldly and very firmly. "There's Canon Wilton waiting for you."
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