At the conclusion of dinner that night, the little party of four sat down to bridge. And an hour after midnight Clodagh rose from the card-table, a loser to the extent of over forty pounds.

CHAPTER V

On a certain morning in the last week in June, Lady Frances Hope rode into the courtyard of the Knightsbridge flats. Throwing her bridle to the man-servant who was attending her, she dismounted from her horse, gathered up her habit, and entered the doorway of the building.

Seating herself in the lift, she was borne upwards, and a few seconds later stepped out upon the second floor, and, going briskly forward, pressed the bell of Clodagh's hall door.

The summons was answered by the same maid who had admitted Clodagh on the day of her arrival; and seeing the visitor, she drew back instantly, throwing the door wide.

"Is Mrs. Milbanke up, Barkes?" Lady Frances asked. "I did not see her in the park this morning."

"Mrs. Milbanke didn't ride this morning, my lady. She is having breakfast in her own room. Shall I say your ladyship is here?"

Lady Frances replied by walking into the hall.

"No, thanks! I'll announce myself."

Stepping forward without ceremony she pa.s.sed down the hall and opened the door of Clodagh's bedroom. But on the threshold she paused, interested by what she saw.

The two windows that looked upon the park were wide open, and through them the beautiful warm sunshine was pouring across the room, touching the old French furniture into a renewal of its glories. Drawn into the full radiance of this light, stood a small round table set with silver, china, and a bowl of flowers; and at the table sat Clodagh. She was wearing a simple dress of black muslin, and her hair--which gleamed almost bronze in the clear, strong sunshine--was twisted into one thick coil. But it was neither her dress nor appearance that attracted her visitor; it was something vaguely disturbing--something subtly suggestive--in her att.i.tude, as she sat close to the table, an array of letters and papers spread before her, a gold pencil held thoughtfully against her lips.

Thinking it was a servant who had entered the room, she did not change her position with the opening of the door; and Lady Frances Hope had a full minute in which to observe her; then, having made her deductions, she allowed her presence to be known.

"Can you tolerate such an early visitor?" she asked.

Clodagh started almost guiltily, and drew the array of papers into a confused heap; then she rose hastily, laughing to cover her momentary confusion.

"How you frightened me!" she said. "I must be developing nerves. But come in! I am delighted!"

She went forward with apparent cordiality, and, taking her visitor's hand, kissed her.

"How nice and energetic you look! You make me feel very lazy. I wasn't in the mood for a ride this morning. Come in! Sit down!"

Lady Frances responded to the suggestion by moving across the room.

Pausing by the breakfast-table, she bent forward and buried her face for a moment in the flowers, at the same time stealing a swift glance at the scattered letters beside Clodagh's plate. Then, straightening herself again with apparent nonchalance, she moved to the open window and stood looking down upon the park.

"Clodagh!" she said suddenly. "Are you busy? Can we talk?"

Clodagh turned sharply, and almost with a gesture of surprise. The whole round of her intercourse with Lady Frances Hope had been of so easy, of so superficial a nature--the whole tone of their friendship had been pitched in so unemotional a key--since the one night in the Paris hotel, when they had touched upon things vital to them both--that the suggestion of reality, or even gravity, brought a sudden uneasiness to her mind.

"Oh, of course!" she said uncertainly--"of course! Let us sit down."

She returned to her own seat and indicated another to her visitor with a slightly hurried movement.

But Lady Frances did not respond to the invitation. Instead, she wandered back to the table, and again bent over the bowl of flowers.

"Why are we always climbing--only to slip back again?" she asked irrelevantly.

Again a faint uneasiness touched Clodagh's face.

"I thought you enjoyed climbing."

"Not to-day. Clodagh, you'll think me a horrid nuisance, but it's about that money----"

She paused as she said the word, and involuntarily her quick glance pa.s.sed once more over the papers on the table.

For a second Clodagh remained silent; then she spoke, a little slowly--a little haltingly.

"Oh yes--the money," she said.

Lady Frances looked at her shrewdly.

"Yes, you remember on Tuesday--when you borrowed that sixty pounds to pay old Lady Shrawle--I said I could wait for everything till August."

"Yes--oh yes!"

"Well, I've had a horrid drop since then--yesterday, in fact."

For a moment longer, Clodagh sat staring aimlessly at the papers in front of her; then she raised her head and looked at her companion. Her face was a little pale, but her eyes and lips looked almost scornfully unconcerned.

"Poor you!" she said easily. "What a bore! You must let me settle up our differences at once--to-day."

She rose and pushed back her chair.

A look of surprise crossed the older woman's face--this time it was surprise tempered with bewilderment.

"To-day! But can you? I know how many little expenses----" She waved her hand expressively towards the breakfast-table, with its many costly adjuncts.

Clodagh made a lofty gesture of denial; and, walking across the room, paused beside her bureau.

For a minute there was no sound in the room save the abrupt opening and shutting of one or two small drawers; then Clodagh turned round again, a cheque-book in her hand.

"Now tell me what I owe you," she said. "I'll write you a cheque and post-date it to July the first. Will that do? I draw my money then, you know."

"Perfectly. But, my dear Clodagh----"

But again Clodagh made a gesture that seemed to relegate the matter to a region of obscure--if not of absolutely contemptible--things.

"Don't trouble!" she said. "Money is never worth an argument. What do I owe?"

During her words, her companion had sat silent--speculative and suspicious. To her worldly mind, Clodagh's grand manner--Clodagh's extraordinary behaviour--indicated but one possibility. She had found means of augmenting her income!

Any knowledge of the false pride, the empty magnificence that will, metaphorically speaking, fling its last coin to a beggar, while pa.s.sing on to penury, had never come within her experience. It needs the environments of such places as Orristown to bring them to maturity. She looked now at her companion, and her eyes narrowed in a sudden, triumphant satisfaction. Something that she had antic.i.p.ated had come to pa.s.s! At the imagined discovery, she gave a quick laugh.