The Gambler Part 31

He folded the letter carefully and returned it to its envelope.

"Because Barnard is coming to Venice in two days, and suggests that I should meet him there."

"Venice!" Clodagh said the word softly.

"Yes. Most tiresome!--most annoying! But he thinks it an opportunity that should not be lost. I have not had an interview with him since we left Nance at school. He came then to our hotel in London; I do not think you met him."

"No. But I remember his coming to see you. I remember Nance and I thought he had such a jolly laugh; we heard it from her bedroom--the one that opened off our sitting-room."

With the mention of this new subject, trivial though it was, Clodagh's manner had changed.

"But what about Venice?" she asked, after a moment's pause. "Will you go?"

Milbanke looked thoughtful.

"Well, I--I scarcely know what to say. Of course I could refuse on the ground of this business in Sicily. But it is a question of expediency.

A few days with Barnard now may save me a journey to London next year.

Still it is very provoking!"

"But Venice!" Clodagh suggested, and again her tone was soft. More than any other in Italy, the beautiful city of the Adriatic had appealed to her curiosity and her imagination. With a quick glance her eyes travelled over the sheltered, drowsy garden, sloping downward, terrace below terrace.

"I should love to see Venice," she said suddenly. "I always picture it so wide and silent and mysterious."

Milbanke looked up from the opening of his third letter.

"Venice is unhealthy," he said prosaically.

For one moment her lip curled.

"Perhaps that is why it appeals to me," she said with a flash of the old, insubordinate spirit. Then suddenly her eyes met her husband's quiet, puzzled gaze and the pa.s.sing light died out of her face. With a hasty gesture she lifted her coffee cup to her lips and set it down empty.

"Come along, Mick!" she said, pushing back her chair and speaking with unconscious sarcasm. "Come and let us see whether we can find any roses in the garden!"

CHAPTER II

Clodagh's manner was careless and her gait nonchalant as she rose from table and crossed the terrace followed by her dog; but inwardly she burned with a newly kindled sense of antic.i.p.ation. There was no particular reason why the idea of a journey to Venice, for the purpose of seeing a stock-broker--even though that stock-broker was a personal friend of Milbanke's--should be instinct with any promise; yet the idea excited her. With the exception of the journey to England with Nance, it was the first time in four years that her husband had seriously contemplated any move not ostensibly connected with his hobby. And the thought of Venice; the suggestion of encountering any one whose interests lay outside antiquities, had power to elate her. As she left the breakfast table, her steps unconsciously quickened; and Mick, attentively sensitive to her altered gait, wagged his short tail, gave one sharp, incisive bark of question, and looked up at her with ears inquisitively p.r.i.c.ked.

She paused and looked down at him.

"Mick, darling," she whispered, "imagine Venice at night--the music and the water and the romance! And just think--" her voice dropped still lower--"just think what it would be to meet some one--any one at all--who might happen to notice that one's clothes were new, and that one's hair was properly done up!"

She bent down in a sudden impulse of excitement and kissed his upraised head; then with a quick laugh at her own impetuosity, she turned and ran down the first flight of time-worn marble steps.

That was her private and personal reception of the news. Later, returning with her arms full of the roses that ran riot in the garden, she was able to meet Milbanke with a demeanour of dignified calm; and to answer his questions as to whether her boxes could be packed in two days, in a voice that was dutifully submissive and unmoved.

But the two days of preparation were imbued with a secret joy. There was a new and unending delight in selecting the most beautiful of the dresses in her elaborate wardrobe, and in feeling that at last they were to be seen by eyes that would understand their value. For Milbanke, while never restraining her craving for costly clothes, had, since the day of their marriage, been totally un.o.bservant and indifferent as to whether she wore silk or home-spun; and on the occasions when outside opinions might have been brought to bear upon the matter--namely, the moments when the archaeological excursions were undertaken--necessities of season or expediency had invariably limited her supply of garments to the clothes that would not show the dust or the clothes that would keep out the rain. But now the prospect was different. It was still the season in Venice; she would be justified in bringing the best and most attractive clothes she possessed. The thought was exhilarating; life became a thing of bustle and interest.

Two and three times a day she drove into Florence to make totally unnecessary purchases; she wrote more than one long letter to Nance; and indulged in many a protracted and confidential talk with Mick as they sat together on the edge of the old marble fountain that dripped and dozed in the sun.

By a hundred actions, obvious or obscure, she made it plain in those days of preparation that, despite the fact that her childhood lay behind her, and that she had known none of the intermediate pleasures of ordinary girlhood, she was a being whose heart, whose capacity for enjoyment, whose comprehension of life was extraordinarily--even dangerously--young.

At last the day dawned upon which they left the villa on the sunny hill--said good-bye to the wide, slow river, the riotous roses and the slow-tolling bells of Florence--and took train for the north.

Through the hours of that railway journey Clodagh sat almost silent. To her eager mind, already springing forward towards the enchanted city, there was no need for speech; and the quiet, prim husband seated opposite to her, made no call upon her imagination. He was essential to the journey--as the padded cushion behind her head, or the English books and magazines by her side were essential to it--and for this reason he occupied that most fatal of all positions, the position of an accepted, familiar accessory. The early days of their marriage, when in her eyes, he had taken in a new and dreaded aspect, were entirely past.

With his super-sensitiveness and const.i.tutional self-distrust, he had withdrawn somewhat hastily from the position of lover, to shelter behind the cloak of his former guardianship. And Clodagh had hailed the change of att.i.tude with obvious relief.

Now, as she sat eagerly alert to gain her first glimpse of Venice, she had almost forgotten that those early days had ever existed. For the moment Milbanke was a cipher; and she an ardent appreciative individual undergoing a new sensation.

Such was her precise mental position when at last the scene for which she waited broke upon her view. Rising straight out of the water, Venice seemed to her ardent eyes even more the product of a visionary world than her dreams had made it. The hour was seven; and from the many spires and domes of the city warm gleams of bronze or gold shot forth at the touch of the setting sun. But the prevailing note of colour that gleamed through the mauve twilight was white--the wonderful, semi-transparent white of ancient marble back-grounded by sea and sky.

The effect made upon Clodagh's mind by this white city wrapped in its evening veil was instantaneous and deep. With the exception of Florence, her knowledge of the beauties of Italy was very limited; and her first glimpse of Florence had been gained under such unpropitious circ.u.mstances that its sheltered loveliness had never appealed to her as it might otherwise have done. Now, however, her condition of mind was tranquil, if not happy; and as the train sped forward, she gazed spell-bound at this beauty at once so tangible and so unreal.

To every traveller it must come with the sense of desecration, that this most magical of cities is approached by nothing less prosaic than an ordinary railway terminus. And Clodagh gave a little involuntary gasp of disappointment as the train swerved suddenly, exchanging the glamour of the outer world for a noisy station that might have belonged to any town; and as she rose from her seat, arranged her hat, and collected her books, she wondered for one moment whether the vision just hidden from her view was in reality the handiwork of man and not some mirage conjured up by her own imagination. So strong was the feeling, that she remained silent as she descended from the train, and waited while Milbanke saw to the collecting of the luggage; then, still without speaking, she followed him down the flight of steps that lead to the water. But there, as the station vanished from consideration, and the picturesque crowd of waiting gondolas met her gaze, her pleasure and excitement woke again; and with a quick gesture, she laid her hand on her husband's arm.

"Oh, isn't it wonderful?" she said in a hushed voice.

Milbanke turned to her uncertainly.

"Yes, my dear," he said absently--"yes. But----" He sniffed critically--"but do you not detect a distinctly unhealthy odour?"

Clodagh's hand dropped suddenly and expressively to her side, and she wheeled round with unnecessary haste towards the gondola into which the luggage was being piled.

But even this jarring incident could not mar the first journey in the stately black boat. Every portion of the way was instinct with its own especial charm. From the wide dignity of the Grand Ca.n.a.l with its ancient palaces, its mysterious stream of silent traffic, its occasional note of modern life, to the fascinating glimpses of narrower waterways where the women of the people, with uncovered heads, leaned out of their windows to exchange the day's gossip with a neighbour across the water--all was a delight, something engrossing and unique.

Clodagh had no desire to speak as they glided forward; and when the hotel steps were reached, she suffered herself to be a.s.sisted from the gondola scarcely certain whether she was dreaming or awake.

Outside the hotel, half a dozen visitors were seated upon the small stone terrace, indolently watching the arrival of new guests; but so absorbed was Clodagh in the scene before her, that she scarcely observed their presence. And when Milbanke, murmuring an excuse, departed to see after their rooms, she turned again towards the ca.n.a.l that she had just left; and, leaning over the bal.u.s.trade of the terrace, paused for a moment to study the picture afresh.

But as she stood there, unconscious of everything but the wonderful, noiseless pageant pa.s.sing ceaselessly through the purple twilight, more than one glance strayed in her own direction. And two at least among the hotel visitors changed their lounging att.i.tudes for the purpose of observing her more closely.

The two--both men--were simultaneously and noticeably attracted. The elder, who, by his extremely fastidious and studied appearance, might almost have belonged to another and earlier era than our own, was a man of nearly seventy; the younger was his junior by forty-five years.

But--so levelling a thing is spontaneous admiration--the expression upon the two faces, as they leant suddenly forward, was strikingly similar.

The old man held a gold-rimmed eyegla.s.s close to his eye; the younger meditatively removed his cigarette from his mouth. But at this critical moment of their close observation, Milbanke reappeared, and, moving stiffly across the terrace, touched Clodagh's arm.

"My dear," he said, "our rooms are ready. If you will go upstairs, I will find Barnard. I will not dress for dinner to-night. It is after seven o'clock."

Clodagh turned, her face glowing with the enthusiasm that filled her mind.

"All right!" she said. "But I think I'll just change into something cool. It won't take ten minutes."

Without waiting for his a.s.sent, she turned quickly and Walked across the terrace to the vestibule of the hotel.

As she pa.s.sed the two men in the lounge chairs, the elder again lifted his eyegla.s.s; while the younger, leaning forward, stared at her with that superb lack of embarra.s.sment or reserve that the young Englishman can at times a.s.sume.

"By Jove!" he said very softly, as the two new arrivals disappeared into the hotel.