Mechanically she put down her hand and pulled one of his soft ears; then suddenly she raised her head, attracted by an exclamation of impatience in Milbanke's usually placid voice. Looking up, she saw that he had opened a second letter.
"What is it?" she asked, her momentary curiosity dropping back to indifference. "Was that last intaglio unauthentic after all?"
Milbanke glanced up with an annoyed expression. "This does not concern the intaglio," he said. "This is from Barnard—David Barnard, who acts as my broker, and looks after my business affairs. You have heard me speak of him."
"Of course. Often." An expression of interest awakened in Clodagh's face.
"Well, this letter is from him—written from Milan. Most tiresome and annoying its coming at this juncture!" He scanned the letter for the second time. "I particularly want to run down into Sicily before Scarpio leaves."
"And does the letter prevent you?" There was interest and a slight hopefulness in the tone of Clodagh's voice.
"I am very much afraid that it does."
"But why?"
He folded the letter carefully and returned it to its envelope.
"Because Barnard is coming to Venice in two days, and suggests that I should meet him there."