"Why try to ignore me? I am in your life." The words were few and very simple: so simple and so few that they conveyed a peculiar impression of power--of weight. A faint, half-comprehended chill fell upon Clodagh; such a chill as had fallen upon her once before in the "Abbati" Restaurant, when Deerehurst had drunk to their next meeting as host and guest. She laughed suddenly, with a quick, nervous lifting of the head. "But it is life itself that I wish to ignore." Again he glanced at her--very swiftly, very searchingly. "So be it!" he said. "I take that as a challenge--to life and to me." At the conclusion of dinner that night, the little party of four sat down to bridge. And an hour after midnight Clodagh rose from the card-table, a loser to the extent of over forty pounds. CHAPTER V On a certain morning in the last week in June, Lady Frances Hope rode into the courtyard of the Knightsbridge flats. Throwing her bridle to the man-servant who was attending her, she dismounted from her horse, gathered up her habit, and entered the doorway of the building. Seating herself in the lift, she was borne upwards, and a few seconds later stepped out upon the second floor, and, going briskly forward, pressed the bell of Clodagh's hall door. The summons was answered by the same maid who had admitted Clodagh on the day of her arrival; and seeing the visitor, she drew back instantly, throwing the door wide. "Is Mrs. Milbanke up, Barkes?" Lady Frances asked. "I did not see her in the park this morning." "Mrs. Milbanke didn't ride this morning, my lady. She is having breakfast in her own room. Shall I say your ladyship is here?" Lady Frances replied by walking into the hall. "No, thanks! I'll announce myself." Stepping forward without ceremony she passed down the hall and opened the door of Clodagh's bedroom. But on the threshold she paused, interested by what she saw. The two windows that looked upon the park were wide open, and through them the beautiful warm sunshine was pouring across the room, touching the old French furniture into a renewal of its glories. Drawn into the full radiance of this light, stood a small round table set with silver, china, and a bowl of flowers; and at the table sat Clodagh. She was wearing a simple dress of black muslin, and her hair--which gleamed almost bronze in the clear, strong sunshine--was twisted into one thick coil. But it was neither her dress nor appearance that attracted her visitor; it was something vaguely disturbing--something subtly suggestive--in her attitude, as she sat close to the table, an array of letters and papers spread before her, a gold pencil held thoughtfully against her lips. Thinking it was a servant who had entered the room, she did not change her position with the opening of the door; and Lady Frances Hope had a full minute in which to observe her; then, having made her deductions, she allowed her presence to be known.