Chapter VII

During the night that followed, Clodagh's excited thoughts scarcely permitted her to sleep; but with that extraordinary reserve of strength that springs from the combination of youth and health, she rose next morning as fresh and untired as though she had enjoyed unbroken rest.

Coming downstairs at half-past eight, the first person she encountered was Milbanke, entering the hotel from the terrace. And spurred by her own exuberant spirits, roused to a sense of general good-will by her own rosy outlook upon life, she went quickly forward to greet him.

"Good-morning, James!" she said. "I hope you haven't been tiring yourself."

It struck her as an after impression that he looked slightly worn and fatigued.

As he took her hand, he smiled, gratified by her concern.

"Not at all, my dear!" he responded--"not at all! I have had an hour's excursion with Mr. Tomes. I assure you I had no idea that the bye-ways of Venice were so interesting."

"All Venice is heavenly."

Clodagh's glance wandered across the terrace to the canal, radiant in the early light.

Milbanke raised his head, arrested by the fervour of her tone.

"Then you--you enjoyed yourself last night?" he ventured with unusual penetration.

"Oh, so much!" She turned to him with a glowing smile that betrayed a warm desire for universal confidence and sympathy. "So much! Mr. Barnard and the tall, dark-haired boy that you met last evening took me round the canals in the most beautiful gondola belonging to Lord Deerehurst. We saw all the interesting people from the hotels, and heard the music; and afterwards Mr. Barnard brought me to the Palazzo Ugochini and introduced me to Lady Frances Hope. She was charmingly kind and hospitable; and made me promise to go again to-night--and to bring you."

Milbanke's face fell.

"But, my dear----" he began deprecatingly.

"Oh, you must come!--you must! Lady Frances Hope feels sure she has met you before. You must come!"

Milbanke looked distressed.

"But, my dear----"

"Yes, I know you hate society. But just this once--I--I _wish_ you to come----"

She made the appeal with a sudden anxious gesture, born of a very subtle, a very instinctive motive--a motive that had for its basis an obscure and quite unacknowledged sense of self-protection.

Milbanke--materialist born--heard only the words, noting nothing of the undermeaning.

"But, my dear," he expostulated, "the thing is--is impossible. Mr. Angelo Tomes has promised to expound his theories to me after dinner to-night----"

He looked at her nervously.

She was silent for a minute or two--suddenly and profoundly conscious that, in all the radiant glory of her surroundings, she stood alone. At the painful consciousness, she felt her throat swell, but with a defiant refusal to be conquered by her feelings, she gave a quick, high laugh.

"Oh, very well!" she cried--"very well! As you like!"

And without looking at him again, she turned and entered the coffee-room of the hotel.

Having partaken very hastily of her morning meal, she returned to the terrace, where--among the other early loungers--she found Barnard, reading his English newspapers. Seeing her, he threw the papers down, jumped to his feet, and came forward with evident pleasure.

"Good-morning!" he said cordially--"good-morning. You look as fresh as a flower, after last night's dissipation."

She took his hand and met his suave smile with a sense of relief.

"Good-morning!" she returned softly. "Have you seen James? He breakfasted hours ago."

"Yes," he said--"oh yes! I was talking to him just now. He has gone to write letters."

"To write letters!"

There was no curiosity and very little interest audible in Clodagh's tone.

"So he said. And you? What are you going to do?"

She looked up and smiled again.

"To idle," she said. "I have an inherited gift for idling."

Barnard smiled, then glanced along the terrace with an air of pretended secrecy.

"Take me into partnership!" he said in a whisper. "My clients don't know it, but I'm constitutionally the laziest beggar alive. Do let me idle in your company for half an hour? The canals are delightful in the early morning----"

He indicated the flight of stone steps, round which one or two gondolas were hovering in expectation of a fare.

Clodagh's glance followed his; and her face insensibly brightened.

"I should love it," she said.

"Truly?"

She nodded.

"Right! Then the thing is done."

He hurried forward. And with a little thrill of pleasureable anticipation, she saw one of the loitering gondolas glide up to the steps.

For the first few moments after they had entered the boat, she was silent; for in the iridescent morning light, Venice made a new appeal; then gradually--insidiously--as the charm of her surroundings began to soothe her senses, the encounter with Milbanke melted from her mind; and the subtle environment bred of last night's adulation rose again, turning the world golden.

As they passed the Palazzo Ugochini, she looked up at the closed windows of the first floor; then almost immediately she turned to her companion.

"Mr. Barnard," she said suddenly, "I want to ask you a question. I want you to explain something."

And Barnard, closely studious of her demeanour, felt insensibly that her mood had changed--that, by a fine connection of suggestions, she was not the same being who had stepped into the gondola from the hotel steps. With a genial movement, he bent his head.

"Command me!" he said.

Before replying, she took another swift glance at the closed windows; then she turned again and met his eyes.

"Tell me why this friend of Lady Frances Hope's is called 'Sir Galahad'?"

He smiled.

"Gore?" he said with slightly amused surprise. "I didn't know you were interested in Gore."

"I am not. But please tell me. I want to know!"

His smile broadened.

"The nick-name surely explains itself."

"Somebody with an ideal? Somebody above temptation?"

"Precisely."

She pondered over this reply for a moment; then she opened a fresh attack.

"Then why should Lord Deerehurst and Mr. Serracauld have smiled when they spoke of his meeting me?"

Barnard looked up in unfeigned astonishment; then he laughed.

"Upon my word, Mrs. Milbanke," he cried, "you are absolutely unique!"

Clodagh flushed. For one second she wavered on the borderland of offence; then her mood--her sense of the ridiculous and the sunny atmosphere of the morning--conquered. She responded with a laugh.

"I suppose I'm not like other people," she said.

"--For which you should say grace every hour of your life!" Barnard turned and looked into her glowing face. "But I'll satisfy your curiosity. Gore is known in his own set as a man who obstinately--and against all reason--refuses to believe in--well, for instance, in the interesting young married woman."

Clodagh's lips parted.

"But what----" she began impetuously; then she stopped.

Barnard continued to look at her.

"Isn't the inference of the smile somewhat obvious?"

Her glance fell.

"Oh!" she said--"oh! I suppose--I suppose I see."

"Precisely."

"But surely----" she began afresh; then again intuition interfered, though this time to a different end. It was not the moment--it was not the atmosphere--in which to parade one's sentiments! With the too ready facility of her nation for adapting itself to environment, she laughed suddenly and gaily at her own passing prudery, and raised a bright face to Barnard's.

"And when he meets these interesting young married women?" she asked amusedly.

"Ah, there he dubs himself 'Sir Galahad'! Some people call him a saint, for keeping his eyes on the ground; others call him a sinner, for not picking up what he sees there. In reality, he is neither sinner nor saint; but just that enviable creation--a man who is self-sufficing."

While he spoke, and for some time after he had ceased to speak, Clodagh sat silent. She was leaning over the side of the gondola and looking down into the calm water, her warm face touched by a mischievous expression, her hazel eyes half closed. At last she spoke, but without raising her head.

"And you are all waiting for the person who will make him see the need for some one else?"

She waited for Barnard's answer, but it did not come. Sensitive to the silence, she raised her head. Then her self-consciousness left her, superseded by curiosity. As she looked up, she saw her companion lean forward and wave a cheerful greeting to the occupant of a gondola approaching them from the direction of the railway station. Involuntarily she changed her position and her glance followed his.

The passing of the two gondolas occupied no more than a minute. But the incidents comprised in some minutes remain with us all our lives. The approaching boat was a large one, rowed by two gondoliers; for, though it had only one passenger, it carried a pile of luggage, much travel-worn. Clodagh's eyes noted this, but they did so very briefly; for instantly the gondola drew level with her own, her glance lifted itself to the owner of the luggage--the man to whom Barnard had waved his greeting.

She saw him with great distinctness, for the early light in Italy is peculiarly penetrating; and her first thought--a purely instinctive one--was that he possessed a sailor's face. His strong, clean-cut features suggested a keen and intimate relationship with natural elements; his healthily clear skin was tanned by sun and wind; and his eyes looked out upon the world with the quiet reliance that seems a reflexion of the steadfast ocean. The first impression of the man was vaguely daunting. There was something self-contained, even cold, in the erect pose of his tall, muscular figure, in the manner in which he held his head. Then, quite unexpectedly, his critic gained a new impression of him. As the gondolas passed each other, he leant forward in his seat and his lips parted in a very pleasant smile.

"Ubiquitous as usual, Barnard!" he called in a strong, fresh voice. "I might have known you would be the first man I should run across!"

He raised his cap, and Clodagh saw that his hair was crisp, close-cut, and very fair, giving an agreeable touch of youthfulness to his sunburnt face.

Barnard laughed, and responded with some words of welcome.

The stranger smiled and nodded.

"Come round and see me this afternoon!" he cried, as the gondolas drew apart. "I'm staying at the Danieli!"

"Who was that?" Clodagh asked involuntarily, as the stranger's boat glided out of sight. Then she blushed suddenly. "Why are you laughing?" she demanded.

Barnard smiled.

"I am not laughing, Mrs. Milbanke," he murmured. "I assure you I am not laughing. It is the merest smile at nature's little bit of stage management. That interestingly bronzed young Englishman is Sir Walter Gore!"