"Man!" said the member of the party she had last addressed. "Do not be absurd!" "Si, Signore," replied the black-whiskered Amalfitan servant with alacrity. "You see!" cried the little lady triumphantly. "I told you so! You must insist with these people. You can always get what you want. Brook, where's my fan?" She settled upon a straw chair--like a white butterfly. The others walked on towards the end of the terrace, but the young man whom she called Brook stood beside her, slowly lighting a cigarette, not five paces from Mrs. Bowring and Clare. "I'm sure I don't know where your fan is," he said, with a short laugh, as he threw the end of the match over the wall. "Well then, look for it!" she answered, rather sharply. "I'm awfully hot, and I want it." He glanced at her before he spoke again. "I don't know where it is," he said quietly, but there was a shade of annoyance in his face. "I gave it to you just as we were getting into the boat," answered the lady in white. "Do you mean to say that you left it on board?" "I think you must be mistaken," said the young man. "You must have given it to somebody else." "It isn't likely that I should mistake you for any one else--especially to-day." "Well--I haven't got it. I'll get you one in the hotel, if you'll have patience for a moment." He turned and strode along the terrace towards the house. Clare Bowring had been watching the two, and she looked after the man as he moved rapidly away. He walked well, for he was a singularly well-made young fellow, who looked as though he were master of every inch of himself. She had liked his brown face and bright blue eyes, too, and somehow she resented the way in which the little lady ordered him about. She looked round and saw that her mother was watching him too. Then, as he disappeared, they both looked at the lady. She too had followed him with her eyes, and as she turned her face sideways to the Bowrings Clare thought that she was biting her lip, as though something annoyed her or hurt her. She kept her eyes on the door. Presently the young man reappeared, bearing a palm-leaf fan in his hand and blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke into the air. Instantly the lady smiled, and the smile brightened as he came near. "Thank you--dear," she said as he gave her the fan. The last word was spoken in a lower tone, and could certainly not have been heard by the other members of the party, but it reached Clare's ears, where she sat. "Not at all," answered the young man quietly. But as he spoke he glanced quickly about him, and his eyes met Clare's. She fancied that she saw a look of startled annoyance in them, and he coloured a little under his tan. He had a very manly face, square and strong. He bent down a little and said something in a low voice. The lady in white half turned her head, impatiently, but did not look quite round. Clare saw, however, that her expression had changed again, and that the smile was gone.