"Was he so unhappy then?" Cecilia asked with nervous interest.

"Perhaps. At all events I know that he has a bad habit of keeping a
loaded revolver in the drawer of the table by his bed, in case he should
have a fancy to go out of the world, and it is very well known that
people who talk of suicide, and think of it a great deal, often end in
that way. When I left him this afternoon I gave him some hope that you
might at least prolong the engagement for a few months, and give
yourself a chance to grow more fond of him. If I have to tell him that
you flatly refuse, I am really afraid that it may be the end of him."

Cecilia leaned back in the sofa and closed her eyes, confronted by the
awful doubt that Lamberti might be right. He was certainly in earnest,
for he was not the man to say such a thing merely for the sake of
frightening her. She could not reason any more.

"Please, please do not say that!" she said piteously, but scarcely above
her breath.

"What else can I say? It is quite true. You must have some very strong
reason for refusing to reconsider your decision, since your refusal may
cost as much as that."

"But men do not kill themselves for love in real life!"

"I am sorry to say they do," Lamberti answered. "A fellow-officer of
mine shot himself on board the ship I was last with for exactly the same
reason. He left a letter so that there should be no suspicion that he
had done it to escape from any dishonour."

"How awful!"

"I repeat that you must have a very strong reason indeed for not waiting
a couple of months. In that time you may learn to like Guido better--or
he may learn to love you less."

"He may change," Cecilia said, not resenting the rather rough speech; "I
never shall."

Lamberti fixed his eyes on her.

"There is only one reason that could make you so sure about yourself,"
he said. "If I thought you were like most women, I would tell you that
you were heartless, faithless, and cruel, as well as capricious, and
that you were risking a man's life and soul for a scruple of conscience,
or, worse than that, for a passing fancy."

"Oh, please do not say such things of me!" She spoke in great distress.

"I do not. I know that you are honest and true, and are trying to do
right, but that you have made a mistake which you can mend if you will.
Take my advice. There is only one possible reason to account for what
you have done. You think that you love some other man better than
d'Este.