iously than her mother had
expected, and was ready to enjoy everything that people offered her,
which is a great secret of social success. The Countess had always
feared that Cecilia was too fond of books and of serious talk to care
much for what amuses most people. But, instead, she suddenly seemed to
have been made for society; she delighted in dancing, she liked to be
well dressed, she smiled at well-meaning young men who made compliments
to her, and she chatted with young girls about the myriad important
nothings that grow like wild flowers just outside life's gate.

Every one liked her, and she let almost every one think that she liked
them. She never said disagreeable things about them, and she never
attracted to herself the young gentleman who was looked upon as the
property of another. Every one said that she was going to marry d'Este
in the autumn, though the engagement was not yet announced. Wherever she
was, he was there also, generally accompanied by his inseparable friend,
Lamberto Lamberti.

The latter had grown thinner during the last few weeks. When any one
spoke of it, he explained that life ashore did not suit him, and that he
was obliged to work a good deal over papers and maps for the ministerial
commission. But he was evidently not much inclined to talk of himself,
and he changed the subject immediately. His life was not easy, for he
was not only in serious trouble himself, but he was also becoming
anxious about Guido.

The one matter about which a man is instinctively reticent with his most
intimate man friend is his love affair, if he has one. He would rather
tell a woman all about it, though he does not know her nearly so well,
than talk about it, even vaguely, with the one man in the world whom he
trusts. Where women are concerned, all men are more or less one
another's natural enemies, in spite of civilisation and civilised
morals; and each knows this of the other, and respects the other's
silence as both inevitable and decent.

Guido had told Lamberti that he should be the first to know of the
engagement as soon as there was any, and Lamberti waited. He did not
know whether Guido had spoken yet, nor whether there was any sort of
agreement between him and Cecilia by which the latter was to give her
answer after a certain time. He could not guess what they talked of
during the hour they spent together nearly every day. People made
inquiries of him, some openly and some by roundabout means, a