Having partaken very hastily of her morning meal, she returned to the terrace, where—among the other early loungers—she found Barnard, reading his English newspapers. Seeing her, he threw the papers down, jumped to his feet, and came forward with evident pleasure.
"Good-morning!" he said cordially—"good-morning. You look as fresh as a flower, after last night's dissipation."
She took his hand and met his suave smile with a sense of relief.
"Good-morning!" she returned softly. "Have you seen James? He breakfasted hours ago."
"Yes," he said—"oh yes! I was talking to him just now. He has gone to write letters."
"To write letters!"
There was no curiosity and very little interest audible in Clodagh's tone.
"So he said. And you? What are you going to do?"
She looked up and smiled again.
"To idle," she said. "I have an inherited gift for idling."