d sovereignty over men, she should view the
world from a slightly giddy altitude.

No one grudges her triumphs and her innocent intrigues to the girl in
her first season. Humanity looks on indulgently while she breaks her
first lance with the candid joy, the pardonable egotism that is bred of
youth. And, incongruous as it may sound, Clodagh's was the position of
the debutante. She was comprehending for the first time--and
comprehending with accumulated emotion--the fact that she possessed an
individual path in life. And with the arrogance of inexperience, she
sprang to the conclusion that every foot crossing that path, should
yield her a toll of homage.

And now one foot had crossed it without pause, without even a desire to
linger! Her cheeks burned under the smart of her hurt vanity, as she
turned from the little group that surrounded Lady Frances Hope, and
allowed Deerehurst to lead her across the salon. Her emotions were many
and confused, but one personality occupied her thoughts against the
angry expostulations of her reason. By an illogical, but very human
sequence of impressions, Sir Walter Gore had, in one moment, become the
most objectionable--and the most interesting--person of her
acquaintance.

As she stepped out upon the balcony, Deerehurst drew forward the low
chair that she had occupied the night before; and she sank into it with
a little sigh. For the first time in the glamour of her new-found
excitement, she felt glad to escape from the crowd and the lights of
the salon.

For a while her companion made no effort to break the silence that she
seemed anxious to preserve, then at last he changed his position,
stepped softly forward, and laid his hand on the back of her chair.

"Is what Barnard tells me true?" he asked. "Are you really leaving
Venice in a week?"

She bent her head without looking up.

"But surely we can persuade you----"

His voice quickened, then broke off, as Clodagh turned to him.

"Does it matter to any one whether I go or stay?" she asked in a
slightly tremulous voice.

The only surprise that Deerehurst betrayed, was shown in the narrowing
of his cold eyes. He studied her penetratingly for a moment; then he
spoke again very quietly.

"Mrs. Milbanke," he said, "can you ask that question in good faith?"

A faint touch of last night's embarrassment wavered across her mind,
but this time she swept it defiantly aside.

"Yes; I mean it."

She turned, and again looked up i