The dinner that night was a feast to Clodagh. She sat between Milbanke and Barnard; and though the former was silently engrossed in the thought of his coming interview; and, for the time being, the latter confined his talk to impersonal subjects, she felt as she had never felt before in the span of her twenty-two years. For the first time she was conscious of being a woman--privileged to receive the homage and the consideration of men. It was a wonderful, a thrilling discovery; all the more thrilling and all the more wonderful because shrouded as yet in a veil of mystery. Dinner was half way through before Barnard returned to his task of studying her individually; then he turned to her with his most suavely confidential manner. "Have you been very gay in Florence this season?" he asked. She looked up quickly. "Gay?" she repeated. "Oh no! I don't think we are ever exactly gay." He raised his eyebrows. "Indeed!" he said. "You surprise me. There used to be quite an amusing English crowd at Florence." Clodagh coloured, feeling vaguely conscious of some want in her social equipment. "Oh, I didn't mean the other English residents," she corrected hastily. "I meant ourselves--James and I." Barnard's face became profoundly interested. "But don't you care for society?" he said, his eyes travelling expressively over her pretty dress. Again she coloured. "It isn't that," she said in a low, quick voice. "James doesn't care about parties--or people----" Barnard's lips parted to express surprise or sympathy; but she finished her sentence hastily. "--And of course I like what he likes." Barnard bent his head. "Of course," he said enigmatically, and dropped back into silence. For a time he remained apparently absorbed in his dinner. Then, as Clodagh began to wonder uncomfortably whether she had unwittingly offended him, he turned to her again. "Mrs. Milbanke," he said softly, "would you think me very presumptuous if I were to make a little proposal?" Clodagh brightened. "Of course not! Say anything you like." "You will be here for a week?" "I--I hope so." She glanced covertly at Milbanke. "Oh yes, you will! I shall arrange it." She looked at him quickly. "You?" she said. "How?" "Never mind how!" He smiled reassuringly. "You will be here for a week; and my proposal is that, while Milbanke is settling his business, I should be allowed to introduce you to some English friends of mine who are in Venice just now. It may be presumptuous, but I seem to feel"--he hesitated for a moment--"I seem to feel that you want to make some new friends--that you want to have a good time. Forgive my being so very blunt!" Clodagh sat silent. She felt no resentment at his words, but they vaguely embarrassed her. The new possibility thrilled her; yet insensibly she hesitated before it. "But ought I to want new friends?" she asked at last in a very low and undecided voice.