restedly.

"Indeed!" he exclaimed. "Then we have a bond of sympathy. Some of my
best friends come from Ireland."

His voice was high and possessed no fulness, but he had the same
courteously ingratiating manner that belonged to his nephew; while a
larger acquaintance with the world had taught him an adaptability to
circumstances--and persons--that Serracauld had not troubled to
acquire. As he spoke now, he brought a tone of deference and
friendliness into his words that touched Clodagh to a feeling of
companionship.

"Then you know Ireland?" she said quickly.

"Very well indeed."

Her expression softened.

"When were you there last?" she asked in a low voice.

"Last autumn. I was staying at Arranmore with----"

"--With Lord Muskeere. I know--I know. Why, you were in our county. My
father often and often stayed at Arranmore before----" She checked
herself hastily. "Oh, long ago, before--before I was born," she added a
little awkwardly. "It was from a stream that runs near there that he
took my name--Clodagh."

"Indeed! What a charming idea!"

Deerehurst raised his gold-rimmed eyeglass, and peered at her through
the dusk.

At the same moment, Serracauld leaned forward in his seat.

"Clodagh!" he repeated--"Clodagh! What a pretty name!"

Once more, and without apparent reason, Clodagh felt her heart beat
unevenly. With a short laugh, she turned to Barnard.

"And you, Mr. Barnard," she said hastily, "do you like the name?"

Barnard made a suave gesture.

"I say that it fits its owner."

Once more she laughed with a tinge of nervous excitement.

"A very guarded statement!" she said brightly. "I think we had better
talk about something else. Who are the people I am to meet here? Mr.
Barnard kindly wants to provide me with new friends."

She turned again to Deerehurst.

"Indeed!" Once more he lifted the gold-rimmed glass, this time to study
Barnard.

"Yes," broke in Barnard genially. "Mrs. Milbanke's husband and I have
met here to talk shop; and I have a shrewd presentiment that, unless we
provide her with a diverting channel or two, Mrs. Milbanke may find
Venice a bore."

"I could never do that."

Clodagh turned an animated face towards the dark flotilla, on the
outskirts of which their own gondola was hovering.

"But, my dear lady, even Venice can become uninteresting and
dry--paradoxical as it may sound," Barnard returned airily. "My
proposal," he explained, "is that I should make Frances Ho