With a certain vague confusion, she met his gaze.
"Yes," she answered. "I—I suppose so."
There was a short silence; and Gore, moving to the balcony railing, rested his arm upon it.
"It is getting late," he said. "Time for us all to be thinking of our hotels."
Again she looked at him in faint bewilderment.
"Yes. I—I suppose so," she said once more.
Another pause succeeded her halting words; then, with a gesture of decision, Gore stood upright, bringing his glance back to her face.
"Mrs. Milbanke," he said suddenly, "let me take you home! I have a gondola waiting at the steps."
The words were so totally unexpected that Clodagh remained mute, and, leaning forward, looked down into the heavy shadows cast by the ancient palace. There was a strange sensation of triumph in this unlooked-for moment—in this sudden capitulation of a man who had previously ignored her: a sensation before which all lesser things—Deerehurst's passion, Serracauld's ardour, Barnard's friendship—became meaningless and vague.
But Gore, guessing nothing from her bent head, glanced behind him towards the salon.