With the excitement of antic.i.p.ation, the cloud pa.s.sed from her face.

"Come!" she cried--"come! I see Mr. Barnard."

It was at the head of the flight of stone steps leading to the water, that Lord Deerehurst was introduced to her; and in the semi-darkness, it struck her that he made a distinctly interesting figure, with his black hair worn a shade lower on the forehead than modern fashion permits; his pale, aristocratic, unemotional face; his cold, penetrating eyes; and the somewhat unusual evening clothes that fitted his tall figure closely and, by a clever touch of the tailor's art, conveyed the suggestion of a period more picturesque than our own. She studied him with deep attention; and bent her head in gratified acknowledgment of the profound bow with which he marked the introduction. A moment later, he offered her his hand, and himself a.s.sisted her to the waiting gondola.

With a pleasant, excited sense of dignity and importance, she pa.s.sed down the steps and entered the boat, noting, as she took her seat, its costly and elaborate fittings and the sombre livery of the two gondoliers; then, as she leant back against the cushions, her eyes pa.s.sed back interestedly to the three men to whom she owed the night's adventure.

Lord Deerehurst came first, moving with a certain stiff dignity, and appropriated the seat by her side; Barnard and Serracauld followed, placing themselves on the two smaller seats that flank the stern; and a moment later, she saw the gondoliers swing lithely round into their allotted positions, and felt the gondola shoot out swiftly and silently into the dark waters.

Following the custom of the place, they headed for the point where the idle and the pleasure-seeking of Venice gather nightly to listen to the music, and lazily watch the swaying paper lanterns of the musician's gondolas.

Clodagh sat silent as they skimmed onward. She was bending slightly forward, her whole att.i.tude an unconscious typifying of expectancy; her hands were lightly clasped in her lap, and again the hazel of her eyes was darkened by their dilated pupils.

As the gondola slackened speed and the music became nearer, more distinct, Lord Deerehurst, who had been covertly studying her, leant suddenly close to her.

"You are a great appreciator of the beautiful, Mrs. Milbanke!" he said in his thin, high-bred voice.

Clodagh started; and, glancing from one to the other of the three men, laughed shyly.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Because I have presumed to watch your face."

She blushed; and Barnard, feeling rather than seeing her embarra.s.sment, made haste to rea.s.sure her.

"Mrs. Milbanke is an adept in the appreciation of beauty," he said with a laugh. "She was brought up on the study of it."

Again Clodagh coloured, and again she gave a shy laugh.

"If you say that, Mr. Barnard," she said, "I shall accuse you of being a fellow-countryman. I am Irish, you know." She turned and looked up at Deerehurst.

The old peer again bent forward interestedly.

"Indeed!" he exclaimed. "Then we have a bond of sympathy. Some of my best friends come from Ireland."

His voice was high and possessed no fulness, but he had the same courteously ingratiating manner that belonged to his nephew; while a larger acquaintance with the world had taught him an adaptability to circ.u.mstances--and persons--that Serracauld had not troubled to acquire. As he spoke now, he brought a tone of deference and friendliness into his words that touched Clodagh to a feeling of companionship.

"Then you know Ireland?" she said quickly.

"Very well indeed."

Her expression softened.

"When were you there last?" she asked in a low voice.

"Last autumn. I was staying at Arranmore with----"

"--With Lord Muskeere. I know--I know. Why, you were in our county. My father often and often stayed at Arranmore before----" She checked herself hastily. "Oh, long ago, before--before I was born," she added a little awkwardly. "It was from a stream that runs near there that he took my name--Clodagh."

"Indeed! What a charming idea!"

Deerehurst raised his gold-rimmed eyegla.s.s, and peered at her through the dusk.

At the same moment, Serracauld leaned forward in his seat.

"Clodagh!" he repeated--"Clodagh! What a pretty name!"

Once more, and without apparent reason, Clodagh felt her heart beat unevenly. With a short laugh, she turned to Barnard.

"And you, Mr. Barnard," she said hastily, "do you like the name?"

Barnard made a suave gesture.

"I say that it fits its owner."

Once more she laughed with a tinge of nervous excitement.

"A very guarded statement!" she said brightly. "I think we had better talk about something else. Who are the people I am to meet here? Mr.

Barnard kindly wants to provide me with new friends."

She turned again to Deerehurst.

"Indeed!" Once more he lifted the gold-rimmed gla.s.s, this time to study Barnard.

"Yes," broke in Barnard genially. "Mrs. Milbanke's husband and I have met here to talk shop; and I have a shrewd presentiment that, unless we provide her with a diverting channel or two, Mrs. Milbanke may find Venice a bore."

"I could never do that."

Clodagh turned an animated face towards the dark flotilla, on the outskirts of which their own gondola was hovering.

"But, my dear lady, even Venice can become uninteresting and dry--paradoxical as it may sound," Barnard returned airily. "My proposal," he explained, "is that I should make Frances Hope and Mrs.

Milbanke known to each other. Don't you think the idea brilliant?"

"Quite!--quite!" Serracauld looked up interestedly. "You are a man of ideas, Barny!"

Lord Deerehurst said nothing, but again his eyegla.s.s gleamed in the uncertain light.

"What is Lady Frances Hope like?" Clodagh asked, suddenly withdrawing her gaze from the ma.s.sed gondolas that swayed in the musicians' lantern light.

"Like?" Serracauld repeated vaguely. "How would you describe her, uncle? The sort of woman who does everything twice as well as anybody else--and at half the cost--eh?"

Lord Deerehurst gave one of his thin, metallic laughs.

"I always think," he said slowly, "that if Frances Hope had been the child of a milkman instead of a marquis, she would have made a singularly successful adventuress. No reflections cast upon the late Sammy, my dear Barnard!"

He waved his white hand, and the dim, uncertain light gleamed on a magnificent diamond ring.

Barnard laughed with a tolerant air.