"A tyrant!" she said. "Oh no! I can scarcely say he is a tyrant."
"Then why do you go with him?"
She looked round for a moment, then her eyes returned to the pageant of the sky.
"Why does one do anything?" she said suddenly in a changed voice.
With a quiet movement Deerehurst leant forward over the railing, and looked into her face.
"Usually we do things because we must," he said softly. "But compulsion is not always disagreeable. Sometimes we are compelled to action by our own desires——"
Clodagh, conscious of his close regard, felt her breath come a little quicker. But she did not change her position; she did not cease to study the sky. She knew that his arm was all but touching hers; she was sensitive to the faint and costly perfume that emanated from his clothes. But she felt these things vaguely, impersonally, as items in a drama unconnected with herself. When his next words came, it was curiosity rather than dread that stirred in her mind.
"It is my desires that are forcing me to speak now. The desire to see you again after you leave Venice—the desire to see more of you than a mere acquaintance sees—to be something more than a mere friend——"
Clodagh still looked intently at the stars, but unconsciously her lips parted.
"Why?" she asked below her breath. And it seemed to her that the word was not spoken by her, but by some one else.