Mrs. Clifford drew back with a horror-stricken face, darting across
at her daughter the same stealthy sort of look she had given her
husband the night after Elma's adventure.

"A snake!" she repeated, aghast, "a snake! Oh, Elma! Why, you never
told me that. And he coiled round your arm. How horrible!"

But Elma wasn't to be put down by exclamations of horror.

"Why, you're not afraid of snakes yourself, you know, mother," she
went on, undismayed. "I remember papa saying that when you were at
St. Kitts with him you never minded them a bit, but caught them in
your hands like an Indian juggler, and treated them as playthings,
so I wasn't afraid either. I suppose it's hereditary."

Mrs. Clifford gazed at her fixedly for a few seconds with a very
pale face.

"I suppose it is," she said slowly and stiffly, with an evident
effort. "Most things are, in fact, in this world we live in. But
I didn't know YOU at least had inherited it, Elma."

Just at that moment they were relieved from the temporary embarrassment
which the mention of Sardanapalus seemed to have caused the party,
by the approach of a tall and very handsome man, who came forward
with a smile towards where their group was standing. He was military
in bearing, and had dark brown hair, with a white moustache; but he
hardly looked more than fifty for all that, as Guy judged at once
from his erect carriage and the singular youthfulness of both face