Part 52 (2/2)
Clodagh laughed; then silently bent her head, and a moment later they moved forward together across the polished floor.
As they pa.s.sed one of the many groups of statuary that brightened the more shadowed portion of the room, she caught a glimpse of her hostess, once again in conversation with Sir Walter Gore, and she was conscious in that fleeting moment of Gore's clear, reflective eyes resting on her in a quick regard.
With a swift, almost defiant movement she lifted her head, and turned ostentatiously to Deerehurst.
”Is it to be philosophy to-night?” she asked in a low, soft voice.
He paused and looked at her, his cold, pale eyes slow and searching in their regard.
”Not to-night--Circe,” he said almost below his breath.
Clodagh coloured, gave another quick, excited laugh, and, moving past him, stepped through one of the open windows.
Gaining the balcony, she did not, as usual, drop into one of the deep lounge chairs; but, moving forward, stood by the iron railing and looked down upon the quiet ca.n.a.l.
The night was exceptionally clear, even for Italy. Every star was reflected in the smooth dark waters; while over the opposite palaces a crescent moon hung like a slender reaping-hook, extended from heaven to garner some mystic harvest.
For a moment Deerehurst hesitated to disturb her; but at last, waiving his scruples, he went softly forward, and stood beside her.
”Are you offended?” he asked in a very low voice.
”No!”
Her answer came almost absently; her eyes were fixed upon the moon.
”Then sad?”
”I don't know! Perhaps!”
He drew a little nearer.
”And why sad?”
She gave a quick sigh, and turned from the glories of the night.
”I have only two days more in Venice. Isn't that reason for being sad?”
”But why leave Venice?”
”My husband is leaving.”
He smiled faintly.
”And is he such a tyrant that you must go where he goes?”
She laughed involuntarily.
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