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Updated: May 31, 2025
Clarke again, and he began to fear that she had not really liked her, although her profile was beautiful. If Rosamund had not liked Mrs. Clarke, his cordial enthusiasm at Mrs. Chetwinde's in retrospect he felt that his attitude and manner must have implied that had been premature, even, perhaps, unfortunate. He wished he knew just what impression Mrs.
But she's a woman full of taste, who cares immensely for fine and beautiful things, for things that appeal to the eye and the mind. In that way, perhaps, she's almost a sensualist. But, in any other way! I want you to know her. She's a very interesting woman. Esme Darlington says her perceptions are exquisite. Mrs. Chetwinde's backing her up for all she's worth."
She leaned forward in the brougham. "If your muscles are of iron." "My muscles!" he said. "Haven't you educated them?" "Oh yes." "And perhaps I've educated my nerves." Mrs. Chetwinde's spirited horses began to prance and show temper. Mrs. Clarke sat back. As the carriage moved away, Dion saw Mrs. Chetwinde's eyes fixed upon him. They looked at that moment not at all vague.
Although she had not really wanted to go to Mrs. Chetwinde's party she looked radiantly buoyant, and like one almost shining with expectation, when she was ready to start for Lowndes Square. "You ought to go out every night," Dion said, as he put her cloak over her shoulders. "Why?" "To enjoy and to give enjoyment.
Chetwinde's drawing-room. The same feverish refinement still was with her, belonged to her; she looked as before, wasted as if by some obscure disease, haunted, almost distressed, and yet absolutely self-controlled, mistress of herself and unconscious of critical observation. Not even for a moment, seeing her thus again after a long interval of time, did Dion hesitate about her beauty.
When they reached the house Daventry said: "Now for Mrs. Clarke. She's really a wonderful woman, Dion, and she's got a delicious profile." "Oh, it's that " "No, it isn't." He gently pushed Mrs. Chetwinde's bell. As they went upstairs they heard a soft hum of voices. "Mrs. Clarke's got heaps of people on her side," whispered Daventry. "This is a sort of rallying ground for the defense."
Clarke because she is what she is. I want her to win because I'm convinced she's innocent. Will you come to Mrs. Chetwinde's next Sunday and meet her?" "Yes, unless Rosamund wants me." "That's always understood." The cab drove away, and the great lawyer was left to think of his case under the stars.
Clarke he had formed the definite impression that Dumeny was corrupt an interesting man, a clever, probably a romantic as well as a cynical man, but certainly corrupt. Didn't that tell against Mrs. Clarke? She was now being questioned about a trip at night in a caique with Hadi Bey down the sweet waters of Asia where willows lean over the stream. Mrs. Chetwinde's pale eyes were fastened upon her.
Chetwinde's voice when she had spoken of "Cynthia Clarke," and even tones in Lady Ingleton's voice. "They stuck to me because they believed in me. What other reason could they have?" "Unless they were very devoted to you." "Women aren't much given to that sort of thing," she said dryly. "I think you have an unusual power of making people do what you wish. It is like an emanation," he said slowly.
If they had not been her eyes, he would have been inclined to think them piercing. But, of course, Mrs. Chetwinde's eyes could never be that. "How does one educate one's nerves, Guy?" asked Dion, as the two friends walked away. "By being defendant in a long series of divorce cases, I should say." "Has Mrs. Clarke ever been in another case of this kind?" "Good heavens, no.
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