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Updated: June 24, 2025
Clarke to prove her undoing? Esme Darlington was pulling his ducal beard almost nervously. A faint hum went through the densely packed court. Mrs. Chetwinde moved and used her fan for a moment. Dion did not dare to look at Guy Daventry. He was realizing, with a sort of painful sharpness, how great a change a verdict against Mrs. Clarke must make in her life.
The two co-respondents, Hadi Bey and Aristide Dumeny of the French Embassy in Constantinople, were in court, sitting not far from Dion, to whom Mrs. Chetwinde, less vague than, but quite as self-possessed as, usual, pointed them out. Both were young men. Hadi Bey, who of course wore the fez, was a fine specimen of the smart, alert, cosmopolitan and cultivated Turk of modern days.
Chetwinde and at Dion as she passed near to them, giving them no greeting except with her large eyes which obviously recognized them. In a moment she was sitting down between her solicitor and Esme Darlington. "It will quite break Guy Daventry up if she doesn't get the verdict," said Dion in an uneven voice to Mrs. Chetwinde. "Mr.
"Yes, do. Beattie will write too, or tell Rosamund when she sees her." "Whom are you going to have?" "Oh, Mrs. Chetwinde for one, and we must see whom we can get. We'll try to make it cheery and not too imbecile." As Daventry was speaking, Dion felt certain that the dinner had an object, and he thought he knew what that object was.
"You haven't been in court before to-day, have you?" she said to Dion. "No." "Why did you come to-day?" "Well, I " He hesitated. "I promised Mr. Daventry to come to-day." "That was it!" said Mrs. Clarke, and she looked out of the window. Dion felt rather uncomfortable as he spoke to Mrs. Chetwinde and left further conversation with Mrs.
Chetwinde, who was as haphazard, as apparently absent-minded and as shrewd in her own house as in the houses of others, greeted Dion with a vague cordiality. Her husband, a robust and very definite giant, with a fan-shaped beard, welcomed him largely. "Never appear at my wife's afternoons, you know," he observed, in a fat and genial voice. "But to-day's exceptional.
There was a sort of heat of anger in the face, which looked rebellious in its emotion; and he believed it was the rebellion in her face which made him realize how intensely she had been able to love her mother. "Now I must write to Mrs. Chetwinde," she said, suddenly bending over the notepaper, "and tell her we'll come, and I'll sing." "Yes." He stood a moment watching the moving pen.
Chetwinde on the third day of the trial, when Mrs. Clarke's cross-examination, begun on the previous day, was continued by Sir Edward Jeffson, Beadon Clarke's leading counsel. Dion told Rosamund where he was going when he left the house in the morning. "I hope it will go well for poor Mrs. Clarke," she said kindly, but perhaps rather indifferently.
But when, with a precise and deliberately cold acuteness, Sir John turned to the evidence adverse to his client, and began to tear it to shreds, they stared less, frowned, and showed by their expressions their efforts to be legal. As soon as Sir John had finished his speech, the Court rose for the luncheon interval. "Are you going out?" said Mrs. Chetwinde to Dion.
It was already more than three parts full, and there was a large proportion of men in the congregation. A smart-looking young man, evidently a gentleman, who was standing close to the door, nodded to Rosamund and whispered: "I'll put you into Lady Millingham's seat. You'll find Mrs. Chetwinde and Mr. Darlington there." "Oh, I'd rather " began Rosamund.
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