to her
mind, coupled with the knowledge of Barnard's contemptuous idea of her
husband--his fads and his peculiarities. What could this man see to
attract him in a dry archaeologist of twice his age? She found herself
waiting intently for his next remark--his next action.

"Are you making a long stay?" he repeated, settling himself in his
chair.

Milbanke, surprised and pleased at the unexpected attention, sat up
stiffly in his seat.

"Oh no!" he said--"no! We are leaving in three or four days. I--I am
interested in antiquity, and should, properly speaking, be in Sicily at
the present moment. Perhaps you have heard of the very remarkable
researches that are being carried on there?"

Gore smiled.

"No, I'm afraid I must confess ignorance. I know disgracefully little
about the past."

Barnard, fearing a dissertation from Milbanke, interrupted with a
laugh.

"I'm afraid most of us find the present more alluring!"

He cast a swift glance at Clodagh.

But Clodagh, still annoyed with him, and with herself--still puzzled by
Gore's attitude--lifted her head sharply.

"At least," she said, "we can be sure that the present is genuine."

Gore turned and looked at her.

"Are you quite sure of that, Mrs. Milbanke?" he asked quietly. "Don't
you think there is trickery and deception in the manufacture of many
things besides the antique?"

Her glance faltered.

"I have seen a lot of unauthentic relics," she said with a touch of
obstinacy.

"And I, a lot of unauthentic life."

He looked at her with a slight smile. The smile stung her unreasonably.

"Some people can never become connoisseurs," she retorted quickly.

Gore laughed, but without offence.

"Not of treasures, perhaps, but with experience and observation, surely
any one can become a judge of men--and women."

Clodagh forced herself to smile.

"You disapprove of women?"

"Disapprove! Indeed, no!"

But here Barnard interposed with one of his suave gestures.

"He only disapproves of the modern woman, Mrs. Milbanke!"

Gore turned to him good-humouredly.

"Wrong, Barnard!" he said. "I admire the modern woman--the truly modern
woman. It is the society woman--of any period--that I lose patience
with."

Barnard smiled.

"The present-day woman is very proud of her complex life," he said
smoothly, "her big card debts and her little intrigues."

Gore's healthy face turned a shade redder.

"I know!" he said tersely. "But to me, a woman with no highe