nd he
always answered that if his friend were engaged to be married he would
assuredly announce the fact at once. Those who received this answer were
obliged to be satisfied with it, because Lamberti was not the kind of
man to submit to cross-questioning.

He wondered whether Cecilia knew that he loved her, since what he had
foreseen had happened, and he did not even try to deny the fact to
himself. He would not let his thoughts dwell on what she might feel for
him, for that would have seemed like the beginning of a betrayal.

She never asked him questions nor did anything to make him spend more
time near her than was inevitable, and neither had ever gone back to the
subject of their dreams. She had asked Lamberti to come to the house at
an hour when there would not be other visitors, but he had not come, and
neither had ever referred to the matter since. He sometimes felt that
she was watching him earnestly, but at those times he would not meet her
eyes lest his own should say too much.

It was hard, it was quite the hardest thing he had ever done in his
life, and he was never quite sure that he could go on with it to the
end. But it was the only honourable course he could follow, and it would
surely grow easier when he knew definitely that Cecilia meant to marry
Guido. It was bitter to feel that if the man had been any one but his
friend, there would have been no reason for making any such sacrifice.
He inwardly prayed that Cecilia would come to a decision soon, and he
was deeply grateful to her for not making his position harder by
referring to their first conversation at the Villa Madama.

Guido had not the slightest suspicion of the true state of things, but
he himself was growing impatient, and daily resolved to put the final
question. Every day, however, he put it off again, not from lack of
courage, nor even because he was naturally so very indolent, but because
he felt sure that the answer would not be the one hoped for. Though
Cecilia's manner with him had never changed from the first, it was
perfectly clear that, however much she might enjoy his conversation, she
was calmly indifferent to his personality. She never blushed with
pleasure when he came, nor did her eyes grow sad when he left her; and
when she talked with him she spoke exactly as when she was speaking with
her mother. He listened in vain for an added earnestness of tone, meant
for him only; it never came. She liked him, beyond doubt, from the