Lamberti answered. "You say,
too, that you mean never to see this other man again."

"I cannot help seeing him if I stay longer in Rome," Cecilia said.

Lamberti wondered who he might be, with growing hatred of him.

"If he is an honourable man, and if he had the slightest idea that he
had unconsciously come between you and Guido, he would go away at once."

"Perhaps he could not," Cecilia suggested.

"That is absurd."

"No. Take your own case. You told me not long ago that you were
unfortunately condemned to stay in Rome, unless you gave up your career.
He might be in a very similar position. In fact, he is."

There was something so unexpected in the bitter little laugh that
followed the last words that Lamberti started. She had kept her secret
well, so far, but she had now given him the beginning of a clew. He
wished, for once, that he possessed the detective instinct, and could
follow the scent. There could not be many men in society who were in a
position very similar to his own.

"I wish I knew his name," he said, only half aloud.

But she heard him, and again she laughed a little harshly.

"If I told you who he is, what would you do to him? Go and quarrel with
him? Call him out and kill him in a duel? I suppose that is what you
would do if you could, for Guido's sake."

"I should like to know his name," Lamberti answered.

"You never shall. You can never find it out, no matter how ingenious you
are."

"If I ever see you together, I shall."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"You forget something," Lamberti said. "You forget the odd coincidences
of our dreams, and that I have seen you in them when you were in
earnest--not as you have been with Guido, but as you seem to be about
this other man. I know every look in your eyes, every movement of your
lips, every tone of your voice. Do you think I should not recognise
anything of all that in real life?"

"These were only dreams," Cecilia tried to say, avoiding his look. "I
asked you not to speak of them."

"Do you dream of him now?" Lamberti asked the question suddenly.

"Not now--no--that is--please do not ask me such questions. You have no
right to."

"I beg your pardon. Perhaps I have not."

He was not in the least sorry for having spoken, but his anger increased
against the unknown man. She had evidently dreamt of him at one time or
another, as she used to dream of himself.

"You have such an extraordinary talent for dreaming," he said, "