the drawing-room,
where she was sitting beside a rather dreary little fire, cutting a new
book. She threw it down and rose to meet him, as little outwardly
disturbed as if they had seen each other constantly during the past two
years. She gave him her hand quietly, and they sat down and looked at
the fire.

"It won't burn," Aurora said, rather disconsolately. "It never did burn
very well, but those horrid people who have had the apartment for two
years have spoilt the fireplace altogether."

"I remember that it used to smoke," Marcello answered, going down on his
knees and beginning to move the little logs into a better position.

"Thank you," Aurora said, watching him. "You won't succeed, but it's
good of you to try."

Marcello said nothing, and presently he took the queer little Roman
bellows, and set to work to blow upon the smouldering spots where the
logs touched each other. In a few seconds a small flame appeared, and
soon the fire was burning tolerably.

"How clever you are!" Aurora laughed quietly.

Marcello rose and sat upon a low chair, instead of on the sofa beside
her. For a while neither spoke, and he looked about him rather
awkwardly, while Aurora watched the flames. It was long since he had
been in the room, and it looked shabby after the rather excessive
magnificence of the villa on the Janiculum, for which Corbario's taste
had been largely responsible. It was just a little shabby, too, compared
with the dainty simplicity of the small house in Trastevere. The
furniture, the carpets, and the curtains were two years older than when
he had seen them last, and had been unkindly used by the tenants to whom
the Contessa had sub-let the apartment in order to save the rent.
Marcello missed certain pretty things that he had been used to see
formerly, some bits of old Saxe, a little panel by an early master, a
chiselled silver cup in which there always used to be flowers. He
wondered where these things were, and felt that the room looked rather
bare without them.

"It burns very well now," said Aurora, still watching the fire.

"What has become of the old silver cup," Marcello asked, "and all the
little things that used to be about?"

"We took them away with us when we let the apartment, and they are not
unpacked yet, though we have been here two months."

"Two months?"

"Yes. I was wondering whether you were ever coming to see us again!"

"Were you? I fancied that you would not care very much to se