remember.
Good-bye."

She held out her hand frankly, and he took it and kept it a moment,
while their eyes met, and he spoke more gently.

"I said too much. I am sorry. I shall forgive you when I do not love you
any more. Good-bye."

He let her hand fall and looked away.

"Thank you," she said.

She left his side and went towards the door, her head a little bent. As
she laid her hand upon the handle, and looked back at Guido once again,
it turned in her fingers and was drawn quickly away from them. She
started and turned her head to see who was there.

Lamberti stood before her, and immediately pushed her back into the room
and shut the door, visibly disturbed.

"This way!" he said quickly, in an undertone.

He led her swiftly to another door, which he opened for her and closed
as soon as she had passed.

"Wait for me there!" he said, as she went in.

"What is the matter?" asked Guido rather faintly, when he realised what
his friend had done.

"Her mother is in the hall," Lamberti said. "Do not be startled, she
knows nothing. She insists on seeing for herself how you are. She says
her daughter begged her to come."

"Tell her I am too ill to see her, please, and thank her very much. It
is all over, Lamberti, we have parted."

A dark flush rose in Lamberti's face.

"You must see the Countess," he said hurriedly. "I am sorry, but unless
she comes here, her daughter cannot get out without being seen. We
cannot leave her in your room. I will not do it, for your man may wake
up and go there. There is no time to be lost either!"

"Bring the Countess in," said Guido, with an effort, and moving uneasily
on his couch.

He felt that nothing was spared him. In the few seconds that elapsed, he
tried to decide what he should say to the Countess, and how he could
account for knowing that Cecilia had now definitely broken off the
engagement. Before he had come to any conclusion the Countess was
ushered in, rosy and smiling, but a little timid at finding herself in a
young bachelor's quarters.

Meanwhile, Cecilia was in Guido's bedroom. An older woman might have
suspected some ignoble treachery, but her perfect innocence protected
her from all fear. Lamberti would not have brought her there in such a
hurry unless there had been some absolute necessity for getting her out
of sight at once. Undoubtedly some visitor had come who could not be
turned away. Perhaps it was the doctor. Moreover, she was too much
disturbe