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Updated: June 24, 2025
These were Mrs. Willie Chetwinde, who had a wonderful house in Lowndes Square, and Mr. Esme Darlington, bachelor, of St. James's Square, who was everybody's friend including his own. Rosamund just recognized them gravely; then she knelt down and prayed earnestly, with her face hidden against her muff. She still heard the little bell's insistent "Ping, ping, ping!"
She made no further comment on Monsieur Dumeny. "I wonder whether the jury will be away long?" Dion said, after a moment. "Probably. I shan't be at all surprised if they can't agree. Then there will be another trial." "How appalling!" "Yes, it wouldn't be very nice for Cynthia." "I can't help wishing " He paused, hesitating. "Yes?" said Mrs. Chetwinde, looking about the court.
Dion felt very young for a minute. "I want to know what you expect." Mrs. Chetwinde closed the small silver box with a soft snap. "I fully expect her to win." "Because she's innocent?" "Oh no. That's no reason in a world like this, unfortunately." "But, then, why?" "Because Cynthia always does get what she wants, or needs. She has quite abnormal will-power, and will-power is the conqueror.
People began positively to hate those twelve uninteresting men, torn from their dull occupations to decide a woman's fate. Even Mrs. Chetwinde showed vexation. "This is really becoming ridiculous," she murmured. "Even twelve fools should know when to give their folly a rest." "I suppose there must be one or two holding out against all argument and persuasion.
Although she could be very evasive she could also be very direct. "You know Mrs. Dion Leith," she said. "My friend Tippie Chetwinde, Mrs. Willie Chetwinde, told me she was living here. She came here soon after the death of her child, I believe." "Yes, she did, and she has been here ever since." "Do you know Dion Leith, Mr.
Clarke got rid of the young man, and spoke to a woman. Then she moved forward slowly. Mr. Chetwinde spoke to her, moving his ample fan-shaped beard, which always looked Assyrian, though he was profoundly English and didn't know it. She drew nearer to Dion as she answered Mr. Chetwinde, but in a wholly unconscious manner.
"Cynthia means the lack of power to read character, the lack of psychological instinct," drifted from the lips of Mrs. Chetwinde. "Three-quarters of the misunderstandings and miseries of the world come from that," said Mrs. Clarke, looking at the now buttered toast.
There was in it something mystical and, remembering her revelation to him of the desire to enter the religious life which had formerly threatened to dominate her, Dion now fully realized the truth of a remark once made by Mrs. Chetwinde about his wife. She had called Rosamund "a radiant mystic."
Chetwinde, looking abstractedly at an old red woman in a turret of ostrich plumes, who was spread out on the other side of the room before a plate of cakes. "You are sure Lady Ermyntrude didn't understand?" said Daventry, with a certain sharp legality of manner. "You mean that she might be wicked instead of only stupid?" "Well, yes. I suppose it does come to that." "Believe me, Mr.
Chetwinde spoke to him, and he saw Bruce Evelin in the distance going towards Rosamund. Mrs. Chetwinde told him that Rosamund had made a great advance. "Now that she's given up singing professionally she's singing better than ever. That Grecian song is the distilled essence of Greece felt in our new way. For we've got our new way of feeling things.
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