y. Then the
blood had rushed to her throat, beating hard, and if she had not gone
quickly to the window she felt that she must have cried for joy. She was
far too proud to let him guess that, but she was not too proud to love
him, in spite of everything, though it meant that she compared herself
with the peasant girl, and envied her, and in all maiden innocence would
have changed places with her if she could.

CHAPTER XVII

It was late in the evening when Marcello reached the villa, and was told
that his stepfather had left suddenly with his valet, before sunset,
taking a good deal of luggage with him. The coachman had driven him to
the station and had seen no more of him. He had not left any message or
note for Marcello. This was as it should be, and Marcello did not care
to know whither he had gone, since he was out of the house. He was glad,
however, that he had left Rome at once instead of going to an hotel,
which would have made an interesting topic of conversation for gossips.

Marcello vaguely wondered why Folco had told a perfectly gratuitous
falsehood about Aurora, and whether he could possibly have lied merely
for the sake of hurting him. If so, he had got his deserts. It mattered
very little now, and it was a waste of thought to think of him at all.

The young man had a big fire built in the library, and sat down in his
favourite leathern chair under the shaded light. He was tired, but not
sleepy, and he was glad to be alone at last, for he had felt Corbario's
evil presence in the house, though they had met little of late, and it
was a great relief to know that he would never return.

He was glad to be alone, and yet he felt lonely, for the one condition
did not make the other impossible. He was glad to be able to think in
peace, but when he did think, he longed for some companionship in his
thoughts, and he found that he was wishing himself back in the room that
looked down upon the Forum of Trajan, with Aurora, and that she was
telling him again that she could trust him; and yet the very thought
seemed to mean that he was not to be trusted.

Psychological problems are only interesting when they concern other
people than ourselves, for there can be no problem where there is not a
difficulty, and where the inner self is concerned there can be no
difficulty that does not demand immediate solution if we are to find
peace. Some men of very strong and thoughtful character are conscious of
a sort of