With her action, a fleeting shadow of self-distrust fell across her mind; but she swept it aside, as she had previously swept the memory of her interview with Gore. Deep within her lay the specious knowledge that, for her, this bright existence was only transitory--that somewhere behind the lights and music and laughter lay her own individual groove, to which she must return like a modern Cinderella, when the enchanted interlude of brilliant days was ended. And in this knowledge lay the secret of her greed for joy. Certain of the monotony to come, she caught passionately at every proffered pleasure. Ten o'clock had struck before the little party left the restaurant; and although she had drunk no more champagne, and had refused the liqueurs that had been served with coffee, her eyes were excitedly bright, as she stepped from the gondola at the steps of the Palazzo Ugochini. Mounting the marble stairs with Deerehurst close behind her, she was filled with an exhilarating sense of confidence in herself--of defiance towards the world at large. The memory of the afternoon, when she had stood on the dark terrace and listened to Gore's contemptuous voice, had left her--or remained only as a spur to her enthusiasm. The animation--the zest for pleasure--was plainly visible in her eyes, as she entered the salon, and went forward towards her hostess. And Lady Frances Hope, looking round at sound of her guest's names, saw this peculiar expression with a stirring of curiosity. "Where have you all been?" she asked, as she took Clodagh's hand. Barnard laughed. "We are shocking truants!" he said gaily. "We have been dining at the 'Abbati.'" She looked at him quickly. "All four of you?" she asked shrewdly. He smiled. "You have a suspicious mind, Frances! Yes; all four of us." Lady Frances laughed. "No," she said. "I never harbour suspicions. It is Mrs. Milbanke's air of having just discovered some delicious secret that is always prompting me to curiosity." "How do you manage to look so triumphant?" She turned again to Clodagh with a long, puzzled glance. "I wish you would impart the secret." Clodagh's bright eyes met hers. "My father used to say that the secret of happiness is never to look beyond the present hour." "A philosopher!" murmured Deerehurst. "I should say a bold man." Barnard looked from the old nobleman to his hostess. But almost as he spoke, the name of Sir Walter Gore was announced, and Lady Frances looked sharply towards the door. With a quiet, unembarrassed bearing, Gore crossed the salon. As he approached the little group, Lady Frances stepped towards him with outstretched hands. "How nice of you!" she said softly. "I began to fear you had forgotten about to-night." He took her hand calmly. "But I had promised to come," he said simply. And at the words, his eyes turned involuntarily towards Clodagh. "Good evening, Mrs. Milbanke!" he added in the same level voice.