Part 68 (1/2)

At the laugh and the tone, Gore's expression became cold, and he released Clodagh's hand.

”So I have been told,” he said a little stiffly. ”I must congratulate Mrs. Milbanke on her development.” He gave a slightly constrained laugh and moved back to Lady Diana's side.

Deerehurst looked after him--a malicious, humorous look.

”Isn't it too lenient of the prettiest lady in London to allow a young puritan to take her to task in public?” he asked in his satirical voice.

Clodagh flushed; and turning, as if to answer, let the spray of honeysuckle slip inadvertently from between her fingers.

Instantly both Deerehurst and Serracauld stooped to recover it. The younger man was successful; and, straightening himself quickly, wheeled round to return it. Then his face fell; and again Deerehurst laughed.

Without a word, Clodagh had left the little group and disappeared into the house.

CHAPTER VIII

At lunch time Clodagh sent word to Lady Diana Tuffnell that the long ride in the morning sun had given her a headache, and that she would be glad of a few hours' rest.

On receipt of the message, her hostess was much concerned, and came herself to Clodagh's bedroom door to inquire whether she could be of any use to the sufferer; but there, she was met by Simonetta, who conveyed the intelligence that her mistress was asleep.

But in reality Clodagh was not sleeping--was not even lying down; she was sitting in a low chair in the shadow of the drawn chintz curtains, striving to solve the question of her future conduct. Would she remain at Tuffnell and face the difficulties of her position? Would she turn coward--and run away?

She pa.s.sed in review the incidents of the morning, until, by persistent contemplation of them, her humiliation kindled to anger. First, anger against herself; then, anger against the world at large; lastly, anger against Gore.

By the time afternoon tea was brought to her, the headache she had feigned had become a reality; and before dinner time arrived she had fallen into a state of miserable despondency. But scarcely had this black mood taken possession of her, than a new and more intolerable distress a.s.sailed her. She suddenly realised the gossip to which her abrupt retirement might give rise. What would the house party think of her disappearance? Would not Lady Frances Hope--if no one else--presume that she was suffering from wounded vanity? The thought was unendurable. No sooner did it present itself, than she sprang from her chair in a fever of apprehension, and rang hastily for Simonetta.

Ten minutes before the dinner hour, she emerged from her room and pa.s.sed downstairs. Faint daylight was still filling the house, but everywhere the lamps had been lighted, and the mellow double illumination gave a curious softening effect to the old raftered ceilings and panelled walls.

In the hall she was met by Lady Frances Hope, who paused and looked at her scrutinisingly.

”What is the matter with you?” she asked, with unusual brusqueness.

”You almost look as if you had a fever. Your eyes are glittering.”

Clodagh laughed nervously, and put one hand to her cheek.

”Nothing is the matter.”

Lady Frances's lip curled slightly.

”You should go to bed early.”

”Yes. Early in the morning! I feel I could sit up all night.”

”Playing bridge?”

Again Clodagh laughed, this time a little recklessly.

”Why not?” she asked. ”Will you play to-night?”