uld reasonably be supposed to be of
any use. He had learned the existence of something like a tragedy in
Maria Consuelo's life, and he seemed to be learning the first lesson of
friendship, which teaches sympathy. It was not an occasion for making
insignificant phrases expressing his regret at her loss, and the
language he needed in order to say what he meant was unfamiliar to his
lips. He was silent, therefore, but his young face was grave and
thoughtful, and his eyes sought hers from time to time as though trying
to discover and forestall her wishes. At last she glanced at him
quickly, then looked down, and at last spoke to him.

"You will not make me regret having told you this--will you?" she asked.

"No. I promise you that."

So far as Orsino could understand the words meant very little. He was
not very communicative, as a rule, and would certainly not tell what he
had heard, so that the promise was easily given and easy to keep. If he
did not break it, he did not see that she could have any further cause
for regretting her confidence in him. Nevertheless, by way of reassuring
her, he thought it best to repeat what he had said in different words.

"You may be quite sure that whatever you choose to tell me is in safe
keeping," he said. "And you may be sure, too, that if it is in my power
to do you a service of any kind, you will find me ready, and more than
ready, to help you."

"Thank you," she answered, looking earnestly at him.

"Whether the matter be small or great," he added, meeting her eyes.

Perhaps she expected to find more curiosity on his part, and fancied
that he would ask some further question. He did not understand the
meaning of her look.

"I believe you," she said at last. "I am too much in need of a friend to
doubt you."

"You have found one."

"I do not know. I am not sure. There are other things--" she stopped
suddenly and looked away.

"What other things?"

But Maria Consuelo did not answer. Orsino knew that she was thinking of
all that had once passed between them. He wondered whether, if he led
the way, she would press him as she had done at their last meeting. If
she did, he wondered what he should say. He had been very cold then, far
colder than he was now. He now felt drawn to her, as in the first days
of their acquaintance. He felt always that he was on the point of
understanding her, and yet that he was waiting, for something which
should help him to pass that point.

"What