"Yes, my dear," he said absently—"yes. But——" He sniffed critically—"but do you not detect a distinctly unhealthy odour?"
Clodagh's hand dropped suddenly and expressively to her side, and she wheeled round with unnecessary haste towards the gondola into which the luggage was being piled.
But even this jarring incident could not mar the first journey in the stately black boat. Every portion of the way was instinct with its own especial charm. From the wide dignity of the Grand Canal with its ancient palaces, its mysterious stream of silent traffic, its occasional note of modern life, to the fascinating glimpses of narrower waterways where the women of the people, with uncovered heads, leaned out of their windows to exchange the day's gossip with a neighbour across the water—all was a delight, something engrossing and unique. Clodagh had no desire to speak as they glided forward; and when the hotel steps were reached, she suffered herself to be assisted from the gondola scarcely certain whether she was dreaming or awake.
Outside the hotel, half a dozen visitors were seated upon the small stone terrace, indolently watching the arrival of new guests; but so absorbed was Clodagh in the scene before her, that she scarcely observed their presence. And when Milbanke, murmuring an excuse, departed to see after their rooms, she turned again towards the canal that she had just left; and, leaning over the balustrade of the terrace, paused for a moment to study the picture afresh.
But as she stood there, unconscious of everything but the wonderful, noiseless pageant passing ceaselessly through the purple twilight, more than one glance strayed in her own direction. And two at least among the hotel visitors changed their lounging attitudes for the purpose of observing her more closely.
The two—both men—were simultaneously and noticeably attracted. The elder, who, by his extremely fastidious and studied appearance, might almost have belonged to another and earlier era than our own, was a man of nearly seventy; the younger was his junior by forty-five years. But—so levelling a thing is spontaneous admiration—the expression upon the two faces, as they leant suddenly forward, was strikingly similar.
The old man held a gold-rimmed eyeglass close to his eye; the younger meditatively removed his cigarette from his mouth. But at this critical moment of their close observation, Milbanke reappeared, and, moving stiffly across the terrace, touched Clodagh's arm.
"My dear," he said, "our rooms are ready. If you will go upstairs, I will find Barnard. I will not dress for dinner to-night. It is after seven o'clock."
Clodagh turned, her face glowing with the enthusiasm that filled her mind.
"All right!" she said. "But I think I'll just change into something cool. It won't take ten minutes."