e had dark suspicions that old Barny has been buying up
your society with Stock Exchange tips. Come, now, confess!" He paused
and laughed, looking with intent admiration into her expressive face.

And Clodagh--sailing upon the tide of present things, elated by the
eager interest of two men, and excited by the grudging interest of a
third--forgot that, for every frail craft such as hers, there is an
ultimate harbour to be gained, a future to be reckoned with. She lifted
her head, met Serracauld's searching glance, and echoed his
inconsequent laugh.

CHAPTER X

The next day Clodagh made one of a party to the Lido, and the same
night accompanied Lady Frances Hope, Deerehurst, and Serracauld to a
theatre; but on neither occasion did she meet, or even see, Sir Walter
Gore.

On the afternoon of the second day, however, he again appeared upon the
scene of her interests, and in an unexpected manner.

The hour was six; and she, with Barnard and Milbanke, was seated on the
hotel terrace, chatting desultorily in the warmth of the early evening.

While they talked, a gondola glided up to the hotel steps; and in the
glow of the waning sun, they saw Gore step from the boat, pause to give
some order to the gondolier, and then mount the stone steps.

They all three saw him simultaneously. Clodagh, to her own annoyance,
coloured; and Barnard smiled in his observant, quizzical fashion.

"I didn't tell you that Gore was coming to see me this afternoon, Mrs.
Milbanke," he said in an undertone. "I had a fancy that you might run
away."

The flush on Clodagh's face deepened.

"Run away?" she exclaimed in angry haste.

But Barnard rose without replying, and went forward to meet his
visitor.

Having greeted his host, Gore turned to Clodagh.

"How d'you do, Mrs. Milbanke?" he said, raising his hat. Then he looked
interrogatively at Milbanke.

Barnard made a sweeping gesture.

"My old friend Mr. James Milbanke!" he said. "James, Sir Walter Gore!"

Milbanke looked up quickly; and the younger man held out his hand with
a pleasant touch of cordiality.

"How d'you do, sir?" he said. "Are you making a long stay in Venice?"

With a friendly movement, he pulled forward one of the wicker chairs
and seated himself beside Milbanke.

Clodagh, leaning far back in her own long, low seat, looked at him
curiously. Unconsciously the remembrance of Serracauld's careless
manner upon a similar occasion of first introduction recurred