nonchalant in his movements, stepped on to the balcony.

Clodagh turned with a short, faint laugh. The beating of her heart was
uneven, and her face felt hot.

"Mr. Serracauld," she said impulsively, "when is Sir Walter Gore coming
to Venice? I have been asking Lord Deerehurst, but he cannot--or will
not tell me."

Deerehurst, who at his nephew's approach had drawn quietly back into
his seat, looked up with perfect composure.

"Yes, Valentine," he said smoothly, "I believe Gore has been making an
impression by proxy."

Serracauld laughed.

"Really!" he said. "How interesting! I shall look forward to the
meeting in the flesh."

Again he laughed, as at something intensely amusing. And as Clodagh
turned towards him doubtfully, she saw him shoot a swift, satirical
glance at his uncle.

"Why?" she asked quickly--"why should our meeting be interesting?"

Once more a vague sense of antagonism assailed her--a vague distrust of
this new atmosphere.

Serracauld answered at once in his light, ingratiating tone.

"For no reason, Mrs. Milbanke, that you can possibly cavil at!"

"But for what reason?" Her glance rested inquiringly on his face. "Do
tell me. I hate things that I cannot understand."

Deerehurst smiled a little cynically.

"A very youthful sentiment!" he murmured. "The older one grows, the
more one seeks the incomprehensible."

His eyes rested upon her with a fixed regard.

For a space she sat very still, attempting no rejoinder. Then, as if
suddenly moved to decisive action, she rose and turned towards the
lighted salon.

"It's very late," she said quickly. "I must think about getting home."

Serracauld stepped aside, and Deerehurst, who had risen with her, moved
forward.

But with a swift gesture that ignored them both, she crossed the
balcony and stepped through the open window.

After she had left them, the two men stood for a moment looking at each
other; then, with an elaborately careless gesture, Lord Deerehurst
raised his eyeglass and peered out across the dark canal.

"Rather a pleasant little gathering to-night!" he said casually. "Rose
Bathurst looks particularly well."

Serracauld's lips parted; then pursed themselves together, while he
cast one comprehensive glance at his uncle's stiff back.

"Oh yes!--yes! Quite!" he rejoined vaguely; then, very swiftly, he
turned and hurried across the salon after Clodagh.

She was bidding her hostess good-night as he reached her side; and hi