Clodagh"s expressive face brightened.
"Yes. And when Nance--when my sister comes back! Oh! I _must_ enjoy myself! I _must_ be happy!"
"Why should you be anything else? When have you heard from your sister?"
"The day I left Nice--a most dear letter. She is having a heavenly time in America. The Estcoits are such delightful companions; the girl is seven months younger than she is--and the boy is seven years older.
Curious difference, isn"t it?"
"Very. But I didn"t know there was a boy. I thought it was only the school friend and the mother."
"Oh no! There"s the brother--Pierce. Nance"s letters are full of him."
Lady Frances gave a little half-sarcastic laugh.
"Then Nance is presumably still learning--though she has left school?"
Something in the utterance of the words made Clodagh flush.
"Don"t!" she said involuntarily--"don"t! Nance is--is different from me."
Then, as her hostess remained silent, she turned and looked at her.
"Don"t be offended!" she added. "It is only that I can"t have anything cynical said of Nance. I know you don"t understand. It seems that because I sent her to America, I don"t really care----" She halted again.
"But I don"t make you understand!--I don"t seem to make any one understand." Her voice dropped slightly; and Lady Frances, as though fearing some emotional outburst, broke in hastily.
"My dear child!--my dear Clodagh!" Then she paused, for the door opened and her maid Rees reappeared.
"Excuse me, my lady! But Lord Deerehurst and Mr. Serracauld are in the drawing-room. Franks thought your ladyship would wish to know."
"Quite right. Thank you, Rees! Clodagh, are you ready?"
Clodagh"s face was slightly flushed from her momentary outbreak, as she left the bedroom. Descending the stairs, Lady Frances moved to her side and pa.s.sed her hand through her arm: and at the touch, a sharp repulsion to this friendship--this fair weather, effusive, superficial friendship--surged through her. And yet where was she to find a firmer sentiment? Where, in all the world, was there a being who had any real need of her? Her aunt? Her cousin? She knew instinctively that their world and her own were inevitably sundered. Nance? Had not even Nance--the little Nance of childish days--already begun to gather interests of her own--to form her own friendships? No; there was no niche that especially claimed, that especially needed her!
At this point in her hasty and confused speculations, the door of the drawing-room was thrown open: and, after an interval of two years, she saw Lord Deerehurst and Serracauld.
More than once she had pictured the meeting with the old peer; but, as is invariably the case, the reality was much more vivid than the imagination had been. Deerehurst came forward with the stiff, courtly manner that brought back with almost painful clearness the balcony of the Venetian palace--the Venetian salon with its polished floor and glittering chandeliers--the Venetian night-music borne across the waters. It all surged back in a wave of memory--first a pang of pain, then a pang of reckless self-contempt. After all, who cared? What did her action--her manner of living--even her existence--matter to any living soul? She held out her hand and allowed him to bow over it.
He bowed over it for a long time; then he raised his head and looked at her. His pale, inscrutable face was as waxlike as ever; his eyes were as cold, as penetrating, as old in their look of supreme wisdom.
"So we meet again," he said. "My hope has been fulfilled!"
For a moment Clodagh stood, permitting him to clasp her fingers and look into her face, while she herself made no effort to speak; then, as if suddenly conscious of something strange in the position, she freed her hand with a little, nervous laugh, and turned to where Serracauld was waiting to greet her.
With a smile and a gesture of easy familiarity the younger man came forward.
"Welcome to England!" he said. "Only yesterday a man at my club was telling me of the prettiest woman on the Riviera this year. I won"t be personal, but the lady was at Monte Carlo only a week ago--turning other people"s heads and emptying her own pockets with the most delightful impartiality."
Clodagh laughed, but this time without embarra.s.sment.
"Be as personal as you like!" she said carelessly. "It wasn"t my fault if luck was dead against me."
Deerehurst came forward slowly.
"But the turned heads?" he asked.
She smiled.
"Was it my business to put them straight again? I"m not a surgeon."
They all laughed; and at that moment dinner was announced.
Lady Frances Hope touched Clodagh"s arm.
"Lord Deerehurst will play host, Clodagh! Val, I consign myself to you!"
Serracauld moved to her side with his usual indolent ease; and Deerehurst offered Clodagh his arm.
They had to traverse the length of a large double drawing-room before the dining-room was reached. And during that pa.s.sage he found opportunity for a whispered word or two. As they moved forward he avoided looking at Clodagh; but his arm slightly and unmistakably pressed hers.
"Am I not forgiving--to be so glad to see you?" he murmured in his thin, cold voice. "I waited on the terrace until twelve o"clock, that night in Venice."
Involuntarily her face flushed. His voice was as potent as ever to express infinitely more than the words it uttered.
"I--I wish to forget Venice," she said.
He stole a swift glance at her.
"Then shall we make a compact? Shall we forget it jointly?"
She said nothing.
Again, almost imperceptibly, his arm pressed hers.
"Why try to ignore me? I am in your life."
The words were few and very simple: so simple and so few that they conveyed a peculiar impression of power--of weight.
A faint, half-comprehended chill fell upon Clodagh; such a chill as had fallen upon her once before in the "Abbati" Restaurant, when Deerehurst had drunk to their next meeting as host and guest.
She laughed suddenly, with a quick, nervous lifting of the head.
"But it is life itself that I wish to ignore."
Again he glanced at her--very swiftly, very searchingly.
"So be it!" he said. "I take that as a challenge--to life and to me."