, however, Dion asked Rosamund how she had liked
Mrs. Clarke.

"I saw you talking to her with the greatest animation."

"Was I?" said Rosamund.

"And she told me it had been arranged that she should--no, I don't mean
that; but she said she wanted to show you some wonderful Turkish songs."

"Did she? What a beautiful profile she has!"

"Ah, you noticed that!"

"Oh yes, directly."

"Didn't she mention the Turkish songs?"

"I believe she did, but only in passing, casually. D'you know, Dion,
I've got an idea that Greece is our country, not Turkey at all. You hate
Constantinople, and I shall never see it, I'm sure. We are Greeks, and
Robin has to be a Greek, too, in one way--a true Englishman, of course,
as well. Do you remember the Doric boy?"

And off went the conversation to the hills of Drouva, and never came
back to Turkey.

When Friday dawned Dion thought of his appointment for Saturday
afternoon at the gymnasium in the Harrow Road, and began to wish he had
not made it. Rosamund had not mentioned Mrs. 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. Clarke had made upon
Rosamund, but something held him back from asking her. He had asked her
already once, but somehow the conversation had deviated--was it to Mrs.
Clarke's profile?--and he had not received a direct answer. Perhaps that
was his fault. But anyhow he must go to the gymnasium on the morrow.
To fail in doing that after all that had happened, or rather had not
happened, in connexion with Mrs. Clarke would be really rude. He did
not say anything about the gymnasium to Rosamund on Friday, but on the
Saturday he told her what had been arranged.

"Her son, Jimmy Clarke, has taken a boyish fancy to me, it seems. I said
I'd look in and see his lesson just for once."

"Is he a nice boy?"

"Yes, first-rate, I should think, rather a pickle, and likely to develop
into an athlete. The father is awfully ashamed now of what he did--that
horrible case, I mean--and is trying to make up for it."

"How?" said Rosamund simply.

"By giving her every chance with the boy."

"I'm glad the child likes you."

"I've only seen him once."

"Twice won't kill his l