Clodagh turned to him sharply and apprehensively. But he touched her wrist with his finger-tips.

"Please!" he said in his thin, high-bred voice--"please! I want you to taste this wine. I generally have some difficulty in getting it outside my own house."

His pale, far-seeing eyes rested on her face; and it seemed to her excited fancy that their glance supplemented his words. That, as plainly as eyes could speak, they added the suggestion that some day she might honour that house with her presence. The idea confused her.

She turned away from him in slight uneasiness; and at the same moment one of the waiters filled her long Venetian gla.s.s with the light golden wine.

"To please me!" Deerehurst murmured again--"to please me!"

She looked round, confused and still embarra.s.sed; gave one unsteady, yielding laugh; then lifted the gla.s.s.

"If--if I must----" she said deprecatingly.

Barnard and Serracauld smiled, and Deerehurst raised his own gla.s.s.

"To the next occasion upon which you consent to be my guest!" he said with a profound and impressive bow.

On the surface, this incident seems scarcely worth recording; yet for Clodagh it marked an epoch--an epoch not evolved through yielding to her host's persuasions, not evolved through drinking a single gla.s.s of unfamiliar wine; but evolved through the fact that one item in the sum of her prejudices had gone down before that potent fetish, the dread of appearing conspicuous.

With her action, a fleeting shadow of self-distrust fell across her mind; but she swept it aside, as she had previously swept the memory of her interview with Gore. Deep within her lay the specious knowledge that, for her, this bright existence was only transitory--that somewhere behind the lights and music and laughter lay her own individual groove, to which she must return like a modern Cinderella, when the enchanted interlude of brilliant days was ended. And in this knowledge lay the secret of her greed for joy. Certain of the monotony to come, she caught pa.s.sionately at every proffered pleasure.

Ten o'clock had struck before the little party left the restaurant; and although she had drunk no more champagne, and had refused the liqueurs that had been served with coffee, her eyes were excitedly bright, as she stepped from the gondola at the steps of the Palazzo Ugochini.

Mounting the marble stairs with Deerehurst close behind her, she was filled with an exhilarating sense of confidence in herself--of defiance towards the world at large. The memory of the afternoon, when she had stood on the dark terrace and listened to Gore's contemptuous voice, had left her--or remained only as a spur to her enthusiasm.

The animation--the zest for pleasure--was plainly visible in her eyes, as she entered the salon, and went forward towards her hostess. And Lady Frances Hope, looking round at sound of her guest's names, saw this peculiar expression with a stirring of curiosity.

"Where have you all been?" she asked, as she took Clodagh's hand.

Barnard laughed.

"We are shocking truants!" he said gaily. "We have been dining at the 'Abbati.'"

She looked at him quickly.

"All four of you?" she asked shrewdly.

He smiled.

"You have a suspicious mind, Frances! Yes; all four of us."

Lady Frances laughed.

"No," she said. "I never harbour suspicions. It is Mrs. Milbanke's air of having just discovered some delicious secret that is always prompting me to curiosity."

"How do you manage to look so triumphant?" She turned again to Clodagh with a long, puzzled glance. "I wish you would impart the secret."

Clodagh's bright eyes met hers.

"My father used to say that the secret of happiness is never to look beyond the present hour."

"A philosopher!" murmured Deerehurst.

"I should say a bold man." Barnard looked from the old n.o.bleman to his hostess.

But almost as he spoke, the name of Sir Walter Gore was announced, and Lady Frances looked sharply towards the door.

With a quiet, unembarra.s.sed bearing, Gore crossed the salon.

As he approached the little group, Lady Frances stepped towards him with outstretched hands.

"How nice of you!" she said softly. "I began to fear you had forgotten about to-night."

He took her hand calmly.

"But I had promised to come," he said simply.

And at the words, his eyes turned involuntarily towards Clodagh.

"Good evening, Mrs. Milbanke!" he added in the same level voice.

At his glance and his words, Clodagh's expression changed. The vague excitement of the past hours seemed suddenly to focus itself. She realised abruptly that she had not yet vindicated her right to the joy of life. With exaggerated difference she bent her head in acknowledgment of his greeting; and almost immediately turned to Deerehurst.

"Lord Deerehurst!" she said, very softly and distinctly, "I want you to do me a favour to-night! I want you to teach me to play roulette!"

It was her declaration of war--the moment towards which she had unconsciously been tending ever since the interview of the afternoon.

She knew it instantly the words had left her lips--knew it by the quick surprise in Barnard's eyes, the sharp curiosity in Lady Frances Hope's, the veiled triumph in Deerehurst's, and the cold disapprobation in Sir Walter Gore's. Without another glance she turned away and walked slowly forward across the salon, to where a couple of dozen people were grouped about the roulette-table.

As she moved deliberately forward, many heads were turned in her direction, but she was heedless and almost un.o.bservant of the interest she evoked. Her heart was beating fast, she was rejoicing recklessly in her vindicated independence.

Deerehurst overtook her, as she halted by the roulette-table. And she was conscious of his presence without looking round.

"Will you stake for me?" she said in a quick undertone. "You were lucky the other night."

He stepped forward, smiling with a cold touch of wisdom, and took the coin she handed to him.

"What! A convert!" cried Luard, who was again officiating at the game.

"Luck to you, Mrs. Milbanke!"

He gave a pleasant laugh, as her coin touched the table, and a moment later set the ball spinning.

Clodagh waited, holding her breath. The ball slackened speed--hesitated over the gaily painted board--and finally dropped into its place. There was a general laugh of excitement; the little crowd pressed closer to the table, and she saw her coin swept into Luard's hands.

The incident was eventful. Quite suddenly the colour leaped into her face and her eyes blazed. In total unconsciousness of self, she stepped forward to the table.

Deerehurst, closely watchful of her, moved to her side.

"Shall I stake again?" he asked in a whisper.