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.”
“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.”
“By giving her every chance with the boy.”
“Twice won’t kill his liking,” she returned affectionately.
And then she went out of the room. She always had plenty to do. Small though he was, Robin was a marvelous consumer of his mother’s time.
When Dion got to the gymnasium Mrs. Clarke and Jimmy were already there, and Jimmy, in flannels and a white sweater, his dark hair sticking up in disorder, and his face scarlet with exertion, was performing feats with an exerciser fixed to the wall, while Mrs. Clarke, seated on a hard chair in front of a line of heavy weights and dumb-bells, was looking on with concentrated attention. Jenkins was standing in front of Jimmy, loudly directing his movements with a stentorian: “One--two--one--two--one--two! Keep it up! No slackening! Put some guts into it, sir! One--two--one--two!”