ce encountered Gore's; but
on the instant that their eyes met, her joy in the moment--her exultant
triumph--was suddenly killed. For the look that she surprised was not
the look she had anticipated. It was interested, it was attentive, it
was grave, but it held neither subjugation nor passion. As her brain
woke to this realisation, she involuntarily raised herself in the
cushioned seat.

At the same moment, her companion leant slightly forward.

"Mrs. Milbanke," he said quickly, "I have been watching you and
thinking about you ever since I came to Venice. And at last I have
decided, that I must tell you what my thoughts have been.

"I am not very old--perhaps I have no right to speak. But a man sees a
good deal of life, even if he wants to keep his eyes shut; and I have
seen a great many people throw away their chances--take the false and
refuse the true. I have seen some men do it, and I have seen many
women--many, many women." He paused, but did not look at her. "It is a
common, everyday occurrence; so common that one generally looks on at
it with indifference. But sometimes--just sometimes--one stops to
think. One feels the great, great pity of it!"

He paused again, looking fixedly down at the strip of carpet beneath
their feet.

Clodagh glanced at him--a swift, searching, almost surreptitious look.

"There are times when one stops to think." He raised his head and
looked at Clodagh, sitting erect and pale, her large eyes wide open,
her hands clasped in her lap. "There are times when it seems
cruel--when it seems a sacrilege to see a girl going down the easy road
of lost illusions and callous sentiments. I know this sounds
incomprehensible--sounds impertinent. But I cannot help myself. I must
tell you what no one else will tell you. I must put out my hand."

He paused, but Clodagh did not speak.

"You are very young, you are very high-spirited, you--you are very
attractive. And the world is full of people ready--waiting--to take
advantage of your youth, your high spirits, your attractiveness. You
are not fit for this society--for this set that you have drifted
into----"

"This set? Isn't it your own set?" At last Clodagh's lips parted.

He made an impatient gesture.

"A man has many sets."

Her pale face flushed suddenly.

"I don't think I understand," she said.

"No. But I am trying to make you understand. I am not disparaging Lady
Frances Hope--or her social standing. She is a charming woman--a c