She turned again to Deerehurst.
"Indeed!" Once more he lifted the gold-rimmed glass, this time to study Barnard.
"Yes," broke in Barnard genially. "Mrs. Milbanke's husband and I have met here to talk shop; and I have a shrewd presentiment that, unless we provide her with a diverting channel or two, Mrs. Milbanke may find Venice a bore."
"I could never do that."
Clodagh turned an animated face towards the dark flotilla, on the outskirts of which their own gondola was hovering.
"But, my dear lady, even Venice can become uninteresting and dry—paradoxical as it may sound," Barnard returned airily. "My proposal," he explained, "is that I should make Frances Hope and Mrs. Milbanke known to each other. Don't you think the idea brilliant?"
"Quite!—quite!" Serracauld looked up interestedly. "You are a man of ideas, Barny!"
Lord Deerehurst said nothing, but again his eyeglass gleamed in the uncertain light.
"What is Lady Frances Hope like?" Clodagh asked, suddenly withdrawing her gaze from the massed gondolas that swayed in the musicians' lantern light.
"Like?" Serracauld repeated vaguely. "How would you describe her, uncle? The sort of woman who does everything twice as well as anybody else—and at half the cost—eh?"