to me, for instance, if some of the money I am saddled
with were used to bring you happiness--or peace! Think of the favour
_you_ would be doing _me_!"

She half rose, then sank back again.

"Oh, but I couldn't! How could I?"

"And why not? Look! I have only to open my cheque-book"--he very quietly
drew a cheque-book from his breast-pocket--"find the all-powerful
pen"--he searched for, and produced, a gold pen--"and--look!"

He wrote rapidly for a moment; then held a fluttering white paper in
front of Clodagh's eyes.

"Look!"

With a little start, a little cry of deprecation, she rose from her
seat. In a flash of memory she recalled the night on the balcony at
Venice, when he had kissed her hand; she recalled the letter she had
found awaiting her in her room at the hotel. In sudden fear, she
glanced at him. Then her fear faltered. To her searching eyes, he
presented the same aspect that he had assumed since their first meeting
in London--the aspect of a tried, deferential friend.

"How could I?" she asked again; but unconsciously her tone had
weakened.

For answer, Deerehurst folded up the cheque and held it out to her with
a respectful--almost a formal bow.

"By extending to me the merest act of friendship."

She sat very still, not attempting to take the cheque.

"I--I could not repay it before January--perhaps not entirely even
then."

"January, or any time. I understand the art of patience."

For one moment longer her uncertain glance wandered from the slip of
paper to the glowing rose bushes; from the roses to the cold malignant
face of the satyr that confronted her across the strip of grass.

"You--you are very kind. In--in January, then."

Deerehurst bowed again. And in complete silence the cheque passed from
his hand to hers.

CHAPTER XI

Action--decisive action--always brings relief. An hour after it had
come into her possession, Clodagh had dispatched Deerehurst's cheque to
her bankers in London; and when, at seven o'clock, she entered Nance's
room with the intention of dressing for the night's festivities, she
was carrying a cheque from her own book.

As she came into the room, Nance was kneeling before her trunk; but at
the sound of the closing door she looked round, and sprang to her feet
with a cry of delight.

"Clo!" she cried, running forward--"Clo, how lovely of you to come!
Shall we dress together, like long ago?" Then her eyes fell to the
folded slip of paper in Clod