Again he laughed, as at something intensely amusing. And as Clodagh turned towards him doubtfully, she saw him shoot a swift, satirical glance at his uncle. "Why?" she asked quickly--"why should our meeting be interesting?" Once more a vague sense of antagonism assailed her--a vague distrust of this new atmosphere. Serracauld answered at once in his light, ingratiating tone. "For no reason, Mrs. Milbanke, that you can possibly cavil at!" "But for what reason?" Her glance rested inquiringly on his face. "Do tell me. I hate things that I cannot understand." Deerehurst smiled a little cynically. "A very youthful sentiment!" he murmured. "The older one grows, the more one seeks the incomprehensible." His eyes rested upon her with a fixed regard. For a space she sat very still, attempting no rejoinder. Then, as if suddenly moved to decisive action, she rose and turned towards the lighted salon. "It's very late," she said quickly. "I must think about getting home." Serracauld stepped aside, and Deerehurst, who had risen with her, moved forward. But with a swift gesture that ignored them both, she crossed the balcony and stepped through the open window. After she had left them, the two men stood for a moment looking at each other; then, with an elaborately careless gesture, Lord Deerehurst raised his eyeglass and peered out across the dark canal. "Rather a pleasant little gathering to-night!" he said casually. "Rose Bathurst looks particularly well." Serracauld's lips parted; then pursed themselves together, while he cast one comprehensive glance at his uncle's stiff back. "Oh yes!--yes! Quite!" he rejoined vaguely; then, very swiftly, he turned and hurried across the salon after Clodagh. She was bidding her hostess good-night as he reached her side; and his attentive glance noted her heightened colour and her nervously alert manner. "To-morrow night, then!" Lady Frances was saying; and he saw Clodagh nod and smile. "To-morrow night!" she repeated. "Mr. Barnard, are you ready?" As she looked round for her cavalier, Serracauld stepped softly to her side. "Mrs. Milbanke," he said, "you will not discard my uncle's gondola? He is waiting to know if we may convey you home." She looked up at him with a faint suggestion of coldness and distrust. Then, across the silence of her indecision, the low notes of the Venetian night music broke forth again, as the musicians' gondola passed the Palazzo Ugochini on its way homeward. For one moment it seemed to sweep across the salon through the open windows; then it faded into the distance, as the boat passed on up the canal. At the sound, Clodagh's face involuntarily softened, her lips parted, and she smiled. "Very well!" she acquiesced below her breath. "Tell Lord Deerehurst that he may take me home." CHAPTER VII