He smiled, unobservant of the slightly tired irritability of Clodagh's tone.
"Ah, indeed!" he said. "That is pleasant. Is there one from Sicily? Scarpio promised to let me have the latest details of the great work."
He took up the four letters and carefully studied the envelopes. As he came to the last, his thin face became animated.
"Ah, this is satisfactory!" he exclaimed. "I knew he would not fail me. What wonderful—what fascinating work it must be!"
He tore the envelope open and began to peruse the letter.
While he scanned the opening lines, Clodagh watched him absently; but as the first page fluttered between his fingers, she gave a slight, involuntary shrug of the shoulders and, moving round the table, sank into the seat that the servant drew forward for her. Then, with an uninterested gesture, she poured out two cups of coffee.
For a while there was silence save for the turning of the letter in its recipient's hand; the occasional snap of Mick's teeth as he attempted to catch a fly; and the thousand, impersonal sounds of lazy, outdoor life that rose about them. At last Milbanke looked up, his face tinged with mild excitement.
"This discovery is very remarkable," he said. "Sicily will obtain a new importance."
Clodagh smiled faintly.
"In the antiquarian's eyes," she said with unconscious irony. There was no bitterness and no impatience in her voice. She spoke as if stating a fact that long familiarity had rendered absolutely barren.