parently waiting for tea on the lawn--before dressing--that sort of
thing." The good Countess blushed at the thought.

"They are only women!" said Cecilia. "Why should I not look at them?"

"Because they are horrid," answered the Countess. "But I must say I saw
nothing of the sort in Guido's rooms. Nevertheless, I felt like the
wicked ladies in the French novels, who always go out in thick veils and
have little gold keys hidden somewhere inside their clothes. It must be
very uncomfortable."

She prattled on and her daughter scarcely heard her. All sorts of hard
questions were presenting themselves to Cecilia's mind together. Had she
done wrong, or right? And then, though it might have been quite right to
let Lamberti know that she loved him, had her behaviour been modest and
maidenly, or over bold? After all, could she have helped putting out her
hand to find his just then? And when she had found it, could she
possibly have checked herself from drawing him nearer to her? Had she
any will of her own left at that moment, or had she been taken unawares
and made to do something which she would never have done, if she had
been quite calm? Calm! She almost laughed at the word as it came into
her thought.

Her mother was reading the _Figaro_ now, having given up talking when
she saw that Cecilia did not listen. Ever since Cecilia could remember
her mother had read the _Figaro_. When it did not come by the usual post
she read the number of the preceding day over again.

Cecilia was trying to decide where to spend the rest of the summer,
tolerably sure that she could make her mother accept any reasonable plan
she offered. By a reasonable plan she meant one that should not take her
too far from Rome. For her own part she would have been glad not to go
away at all. There was Vallombrosa, which was high up and very cool, and
there was Viareggio, which was by the sea, but much warmer, and there
was Sorrento, which had become fashionable in the summer, and was never
very hot and was the prettiest place of all. Something must be decided
at once, for she knew her mother well. When the Countess grew restless
to leave town, it was impossible to live with her. A startled
exclamation interrupted Cecilia's reflections.

"My dear! How awful!"

"What is it?" asked Cecilia, placidly, expecting her mother to read out
some blood-curdling tale of runaway motor cars and mangled nursery
maids.

"This is too dreadful!" cried the Countess, s