f you can waive your prejudices against the milk baths, Mrs.
Milbanke," he said, "you'll find old Deerehurst quite a delightful
person. But, of course, when one is very young, prejudices are adhesive
things."

He finished his coffee meditatively, stealing a glance at her from the
corner of his eye.

She remained silent for a moment, tentatively fingering her cup.

"Do I seem so very young?" she asked at last, without raising her eyes.

At the words, he turned and looked at her fully.

"Do you know, Mrs. Milbanke," he said seriously, "I am literally
devoured by a desire to ask you your age? When I saw you come
downstairs to-night, I felt--pardon the rudeness!--like laughing in
James's face when he introduced you as his wife. You scarcely looked
eighteen. But a little while ago, when you spoke of your life at
Florence, I suddenly felt out in my calculations. Your face, of course,
seemed just as fascinatingly young; but from your expression I could
have believed you to be twenty-four. And now again--Please _do_ be
lenient to my impertinence!--now again, as you spoke to Serracauld, you
looked like a child turning the first page in the book of life. Are you
an enigma?"

During the first portion of his speech, Clodagh had looked grave; but
at his last words she laughed with a touch of constraint.

"No," she answered. "I am nothing half so interesting--and it's four
years since I was eighteen. But hadn't I better get my cloak before Mr.
Serracauld comes back?"

With another slightly embarrassed laugh, she rose; and without waiting
for Barnard's escort, walked out of the room.

Ten minutes later, she descended the stairs, wrapped in a light evening
cloak. Her cheeks were still flushed with excitement, and her hazel
eyes were dark with anticipation. Yesterday--only yesterday--she had
been a mere item in the secluded, unimportant life of the villa at
Florence; now, to-night, three men--each one of whom must, in his time,
have known superlatively interesting and beautiful women--awaited her
pleasure!

As she stepped across the hall, Serracauld darted forward to meet her.

"This is very gracious of you!" he murmured. "I hear it is your first
evening in Venice."

She glanced up at him, as they moved slowly forward across the hall.

"My very first evening," she said softly. "And I so want to enjoy it."

He paused deliberately, and looked at her.

"May I take that as permission to make it enjoyable--if I can?"

Her