eason for saying it."

"Lamberti and I were together, talking, and I said that nothing would
ever induce me to marry an heiress, unless it were to save my father or
mother from ruin. As that can never happen, all heiresses are perfectly
safe from me! Do you mind my having said that?"

"No. I am sure you were in earnest."

A shadow had crossed her face at the mention of Lamberti's name.

"You do not like my friend," he said, and as he spoke, the shadow came
again and deepened.

"How can I like him or dislike him? I hardly know him."

She felt very uncomfortable, for it would have been quite natural that
Lamberti should have spoken to Guido of her strange behaviour in the
Forum. Guido answered that one often liked or disliked people at first
sight.

"I think that you and I liked each other as soon as we met," he
concluded.

"Yes," Cecilia answered, after a little thought. "I am sure we did. Tell
me, what makes you think that I dislike your friend? I should be very
sorry if he thought I did."

"When I first spoke of him a few moments ago, your expression changed,
and when I referred to him again, you frowned."

"Is that all? Are you sure that is the only reason for your opinion?"

Guido laughed a little.

"What other reason could I have?" he asked. "Do not take it so
seriously!"

"He might have told you that he himself had the impression----"

"He has hardly mentioned your name since we both met you," Guido
answered.

It was a relief to know that Lamberti had not spoken of having met her
unexpectedly, and of her cry, and of her flight. Yet somehow she had
already been sure that he had kept the matter to himself. As a matter of
fact, Guido had never thought of her, even in the most passing way, as
the possible heroine of the adventure in the Forum. The story had
interested him, but the personality of the lady did not; and, moreover,
from the way in which Lamberti had spoken, Guido had very naturally
supposed her to be a married woman, for it would not have occurred to
him that a young girl could be strolling among the ruins quite alone.

Cecilia felt relieved, and yet, at the same time, she felt a little
girlish disappointment at the thought that Lamberti had hardly ever
spoken of her to his most intimate friend, for she was quite sure that
Guido told her the exact truth. She was angry with herself for being
disappointed, too. The man's face had haunted her so long in half-waking
dreams; or at least, a