"Good is a very elastic word." He was fencing, and she realised it. With a subtle change of tone, she made a fresh essay. "Isn't the meaning of every word merely a matter of inflexion?" He hesitated. "I--I suppose so," he admitted guardedly. She smiled suddenly, looking up into his face. "Then to me, the word 'good' means all that is warm and light and happy. And to you, it means something cold--or unattainable?" "Indeed no! You have made a wrong deduction." "Well, what does it mean to you?" "Mean? I--I am not sure that I can tell you." "Perhaps you have not found the meaning?" "Perhaps not." "But you are seeking for it?" He laughed a little constrainedly. "I may be--unconsciously." Again she averted her eyes, and turned towards the mysterious canal. "Now I understand one thing!" she said in a soft, slow voice. "What is that?" Gore was curious, despite himself. "Why they call you 'Sir Galahad'?" There was a moment of silence. His face flushed, then turned cold. "Indeed!" he said stiffly. "And, if it is not indiscreet, may I ask who calls me 'Sir Galahad'?" At the tone of his voice, Clodagh wheeled round. "Didn't you know?" she asked. "I thought--oh, I was sure you knew----" He laughed. "No!" he said with elaborate indifference--"no! To whom am I indebted for the name?" But his companion was silent. Acutely conscious of having struck a wrong note, she felt angry with herself--angry with him. "Who gave me the name?" he asked again. "I had better not say. I thought you knew of it." "Then I am at liberty to guess. It was Lord Deerehurst?" His tone was curt--even contemptuous. Clodagh flushed. It seemed as if, by a subtle insinuation, he had scorned her. "And if it was Lord Deerehurst?" she asked sharply. Gore made an exclamation of contempt. "You dislike Lord Deerehurst?" He shrugged his shoulders. "You dislike Lord Deerehurst?" She was persistent, remembering keenly and uncomfortably the favour she had shown the old peer in his presence the night before. Gore gave a short, indifferent laugh, and the sound galled her. "Lord Deerehurst is a friend of mine," she said unwisely. He bent his head with a stiff movement. "If I have transgressed," he said, "please forgive me! I have already trespassed on your time. Good-bye! Perhaps we shall meet later at the Palazzo Ugochini." His voice was cold and very reserved. The blood beat hotly and uncomfortably in Clodagh's veins, but she raised her head and answered in a voice as indifferent as his own. "Good-bye! It's quite possible that you may _see_ me at the Palazzo Ugochini; but I can't promise more." Gathering up her light skirt, she turned and walked across the terrace to the door of the hotel. Gore stood and watched her until the last gleam of her dress was lost in the lighted hall; then slowly--thoughtfully, almost reluctantly--he began his descent of the steps. CHAPTER XI