y dear!" he murmured--"no reason, I assure you! Go to your
party. Enjoy yourself!"

At his words she bent quickly and brushed his forehead with her lips,
but so lightly, so unthinkingly that the act was valueless.

"Good-night!" she said--"good-night, James! And thank you!"

She straightened herself quickly; and with a mind already speeding
feverishly forward towards the night's amusement, she turned and walked
out of the room.

It was nine o'clock when she and Barnard arrived at the Palazzo
Ugochini, and already the deep purple of the Venetian night was
wrapping the waterways in mysterious shade. But to-night she was less
absorbed in outward things. An engrossing idea occupied her mind. She
felt at once surer--and less sure--of herself than she had felt the
night before.

The time occupied in reaching the palace and mounting the marble steps
seemed to her very brief; and almost before she realised that the
moment had come, she heard her own and Barnard's names announced by
Lady Frances Hope's English servant.

Her first sensation upon entering the salon, was an almost childish
satisfaction in the thought that she had dressed so carefully; for it
needed but a glance to show her that the evening's gathering was of a
very much more important nature than that of the previous night. Quite
fifty people were grouped about the lofty room, whose centre and pivot
was again the gaudy, modern roulette-table; and towards this table,
with its surrounding group of gay and noisy votaries, she and Barnard
turned as if by instinct.

Nearing the circle of players, she saw that Luard--her acquaintance of
last evening--was officiating at the game to the delight and amusement
of his clients; while at a little distance from the table, she caught
sight of her hostess in conversation with a tall man whose remarkably
fair and close-cropped hair gave her a sudden thrill of recognition.

As in duty bound, she walked straight forward to where Lady Frances was
standing. And as she murmured her greeting, her hostess turned quickly,
appraising in a single rapid glance her dress, her hair, her
complexion, while she extended her hand with a cordial gesture. It may
be possible that the cordiality cost Lady Frances an effort--that the
smile with which she greeted her radiant guest covered a suggestion of
feminine chagrin; but if so, no one detected it. Her welcome sounded
genuine and even warm.

"My dear Mrs. Milbanke!" she exclaimed. "How cha