im to utter it. He was still labouring
under an intense surprise at Milbanke's choice of a wife; and the
desire to probe the nature of the relationship was strong within him.

"Are you like the man in the Eastern story?" he added. "Would you
barter new lamps for old?"

Clodagh was walking in front of him as he put the question, and
Milbanke was left momentarily behind. For a second she made no reply;
then suddenly she turned and cast a bright glance over her shoulder.

"If you had asked me that question this morning, Mr. Barnard," she
said, "I don't believe I could have answered it. But now I can. I would
not part with one new, bright lamp for a hundred old ones--no matter
how rare. Am I a great vandal?"

Her eyes were shining with the excitement of the moment, and her face
looked beautifully and eagerly alive.

"Am I a great vandal?" she repeated softly.

There was an instant's pause; then Barnard stepped closer to her side.

"No, Mrs. Milbanke," he said. "But you are a very unmistakable child of
Eve."

The dinner that night was a feast to Clodagh. She sat between Milbanke
and Barnard; and though the former was silently engrossed in the
thought of his coming interview; and, for the time being, the latter
confined his talk to impersonal subjects, she felt as she had never
felt before in the span of her twenty-two years. For the first time she
was conscious of being a woman--privileged to receive the homage and
the consideration of men. It was a wonderful, a thrilling discovery;
all the more thrilling and all the more wonderful because shrouded as
yet in a veil of mystery.

Dinner was half way through before Barnard returned to his task of
studying her individually; then he turned to her with his most suavely
confidential manner.

"Have you been very gay in Florence this season?" he asked.

She looked up quickly.

"Gay?" she repeated. "Oh no! I don't think we are ever exactly gay."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Indeed!" he said. "You surprise me. There used to be quite an amusing
English crowd at Florence."

Clodagh coloured, feeling vaguely conscious of some want in her social
equipment.

"Oh, I didn't mean the other English residents," she corrected hastily.
"I meant ourselves--James and I."

Barnard's face became profoundly interested.

"But don't you care for society?" he said, his eyes travelling
expressively over her pretty dress.

Again she coloured.

"It isn't that," she said in a low, qui