"Gore," she said shortly—"Gore. Sir Walter Gore."
"Gore!" Milbanke repeated the name as though it pleased him. "A fine young fellow! Very unlike the majority of young men of the present day."
Clodagh said nothing.
"Don't you agree with me, my dear?"
As if by an effort, she recalled her wandering gaze, turned her head slowly, and looked at her husband.
"He—he certainly seems unlike other people," she admitted in a low voice.
After this rejoinder there was silence. Clodagh, her brows drawn together in a perplexed frown, relapsed into her former absorbed contemplation; while Milbanke, having changed his position once or twice, shook out the sheets of his newspaper and buried himself in the lengthy report of a scientific meeting.
But scarcely had he reached the end of his first paragraph, than a large shadow fell across the page, and, looking up quickly, he saw the ponderous figure of Mr. Angelo Tomes.
At the sight of his hero he started, coloured with pleasure, and rose hastily.
"Mr. Tomes!" he exclaimed. "Clodagh, my dear, here is Mr. Tomes!"