t expected the request,
and he hesitated a moment.

"You would rather not," said Guido, disappointed. "I suppose I must wait
till I am well. Only it may be too late then. She will tell every one
that she has broken off the engagement."

"You misunderstood me," Lamberti said calmly, for he had found time to
think while Guido was speaking. "I will see her at once."

It had not been easy to say, for he knew what it meant.

"Thank you," Guido murmured. "Thank you, thank you!" he repeated with a
profound sense of relief, as his head sank back on the pillow.

"Will it do you any harm if I smoke?" asked Lamberti, looking at a cigar
he had taken from his pocket.

"No. I wish you would. I cannot even smoke a cigarette to-day. It tastes
like bad hay."

There is a hideous triviality about the things people say at important
moments in their lives. But Lamberti was not listening, and he lit his
cigar thoughtfully, without answering. Then he went to the window and
looked down through the blinds in silence, pondering on what was before
him.

It was certainly the place of a friend in such a case to accept the
position Guido was thrusting upon him, and from the first Lamberti had
not meant to refuse. He had a strong sense of man's individual right to
get what he wanted for himself without great regard for the feelings of
others, and he was quite sure that he would not have done for his own
brother what he was about to do for Guido. It is even possible that he
would not have been so ready to do it for Guido himself if he had not
accidentally seen those four words of Cecilia's letter. The knowledge of
her secret had at once determined the direction of his impulses. For
himself he hoped nothing, but he had made up his mind that if Cecilia
would not marry Guido she should by no means marry any other man living,
and he was fully determined to make her confess her passing fancy for
the unknown one, in order that he might have the right to reproach her
with it. He even hoped that he could find out the man's name, and, as he
was of a violent disposition, he at once planned vengeance to be wreaked
upon him. He turned from the window at last, and blew a cloud of grey
smoke into the quiet room.

"I will send a message now," he said, "and I will go myself this
evening. They can hardly be dining out."

"No. They are at home. I was to have dined with them."

Guido's voice was faint, but he was calm now. Lamberti unlocked the door
and op