do not mean that you still wish I would marry him after--after what
I told you the other evening?"

The interrogation was in her voice, and that was hard, and demanded an
answer. Lamberti looked away, and did not reply at once, for he meant to
tell the exact truth, and was not quite sure where it lay. He felt, too,
that her manner had changed notably since they had last talked, and
though he had no intention of taking the upper hand, it was not in his
nature to submit to any dictation, even from the woman he loved.

"Answer me, please," said Cecilia, rather imperiously.

"Yes, I will. I wish it were possible for you to marry him, that is
all."

"And you know that it is not."

"I am almost sure that it is not."

"How cautious you are!"

"The matter is serious. But you said that you had something to say to
me. What is it?"

"I wanted to tell you that I am sick of all this deception, of writing
notes that are meant to deceive a man for whom I have the most sincere
friendship, of letting the whole world think that I will do what I would
not do, if I were to die for it."

He looked at her, then clasped his hands upon his knees and shook his
head.

"I must see him," she said, after a pause, "I must see him at once, and
you must help me. If I could only speak to him I could make him
understand, and he would be glad I had spoken, and we should always be
good friends. But I must see him alone, and talk to him. Make it
possible, for I know you can. I am not afraid of the consequences. Take
me to him. It is the only true and honest thing to do!"

Lamberti believed that this was true; he was a man of action and had no
respect for society's prejudices, when society was not present to
enforce its laws. It would have seemed incredible to Romans that an
Italian girl could think of doing what Cecilia proposed, and if it were
ever known, her reputation would be gravely damaged. But Cecilia was not
like other young girls; society should never know what she had done, and
she was quite right in saying that her plan was really the best and most
honourable.

"I can take you to him," Lamberti said. "I suppose you know what you are
risking."

"Nothing, if I go with you. You would not let me run any risk."

She did not raise her voice, she hardly changed her tone, but nothing
she had ever said had given him such a thrilling sensation of pleasure.

"Do you trust me as much as that?" he asked.

"Yes, as much as that."

She s