"This set? Isn't it your own set?" At last Clodagh's lips parted.
He made an impatient gesture.
"A man has many sets."
Her pale face flushed suddenly.
"I don't think I understand," she said.
"No. But I am trying to make you understand. I am not disparaging Lady Frances Hope—or her social standing. She is a charming woman—a clever woman, but she is a woman of to-day. Her pleasures, her ambitions, her friends——"
Clodagh lifted her head.
"—Her friends?" she said faintly.
"—Are not the friends for you—for any inexperienced girl. Take them one by one. There is Serracauld—indolent, worthless, vicious; Barnard—decent enough as a man's friend, and as honest as his clients permit him to be, but no proper guide for a girl like you; Deerehurst——"
But Clodagh checked him.