Once or
twice there came to her an idea that she would tell it. He had sought
for sympathy, not under the assurance of secrecy but with the full
conviction, as she felt it, that his secret would be safe. Why should
not she do the same? That there would be great comfort in doing so
she was well aware. To have some one who would sympathise with her!
Hitherto she had no one. Even her mother, who was kindness, even
obedience itself, who attended to her smallest wish, even her mother
regretted the baronet son-in-law. "And yet she would have been left
all alone," she said to herself, marvelling at the unselfish fondness
of a mother. Mr. Western would be bound to sympathise. Having called
upon her for sympathy, his must be ready. But when she had thought of
it thrice she did not do it. Were she to tell her story it would seem
as though she were repeating to him back his own. "I too have been in
love, and engaged, and have jilted a gentleman considerably my senior
in age." She would have to say that, likening herself to the girl who
had jilted him,--or else to tell the other story, the untrue story,
the story which the world believed, in order that she might be on a
par with him. This she could not do. If she told any she must tell
the truth, and the truth was not suitable to be told. Therefore she
kept her peace, and sympathised with a one-sided sympathy.

In Rome they did again meet, and on this occasion they met as quite
old friends. He called upon them at their hotel and sat with them,
happier than usual in his manner, and, for him, almost light and gay
of heart. Parties were made to St. Peter's, and the Coliseum, and the
Capitol. When he left on that occasion Cecilia remarked to her mother
how much less triste he was than usual. "Men, I suppose," she said to
herself, "get over that kind of thing quicker than women."

In Rome it seemed to Cecilia that Mr. Western, when alone with her,
had no other subject for conversation than the ill-treatment he had
received from Mary Tremenhere. His eagerness in coming back to the
subject quite surprised her. She herself was fascinated by it, but
yet felt it would be better were she to put a stop to it. There was
no way of doing this unless she were to take her mother from Rome.
She could not tell him that on that matter he had said enough, nor
could she warn him that so much of confidential intercourse between
them would give rise in the minds of others to erroneous ideas. Her
mother