but this proposal she had
declined. The days when every fibre of her being had yearned for her
own country were passed; and the idea of return had lost its savour.

As she sat now, sipping her coffee and gazing abstractedly down to
where the hot sun glinted on the Arno, it seemed to her that her
life--the glorious, exuberant state that she had been accustomed to
call her life--had drifted incredibly far away; that it lay asleep, if
not already dead, in some intangible realm widely beyond her reach. She
thought of Nance away at her English school, and unconsciously she
envied her. To be fifteen, and to be surrounded by young people!
Involuntarily she sighed; and Mick, ever acutely sensitive to her
change of mood, turned and pressed his cold nose against her knee.

Mechanically she put down her hand and pulled one of his soft ears;
then suddenly she raised her head, attracted by an exclamation of
impatience in Milbanke's usually placid voice. Looking up, she saw that
he had opened a second letter.

"What is it?" she asked, her momentary curiosity dropping back to
indifference. "Was that last intaglio unauthentic after all?"

Milbanke glanced up with an annoyed expression. "This does not concern
the intaglio," he said. "This is from Barnard--David Barnard, who acts
as my broker, and looks after my business affairs. You have heard me
speak of him."

"Of course. Often." An expression of interest awakened in Clodagh's
face.

"Well, this letter is from him--written from Milan. Most tiresome and
annoying its coming at this juncture!" He scanned the letter for the
second time. "I particularly want to run down into Sicily before
Scarpio leaves."

"And does the letter prevent you?" There was interest and a slight
hopefulness in the tone of Clodagh's voice.

"I am very much afraid that it does."

"But why?"

He folded the letter carefully and returned it to its envelope.

"Because Barnard is coming to Venice in two days, and suggests that I
should meet him there."

"Venice!" Clodagh said the word softly.

"Yes. Most tiresome!--most annoying! But he thinks it an opportunity
that should not be lost. I have not had an interview with him since we
left Nance at school. He came then to our hotel in London; I do not
think you met him."

"No. But I remember his coming to see you. I remember Nance and I
thought he had such a jolly laugh; we heard it from her bedroom--the
one that opened off our sitting-room."

With the