asked quickly.

"No. But you spoke at first as if you were reproaching me for changing
my mind."

"Did I? I am sorry. I did not mean it in that way. I was only thinking
that fate generally makes us do just what we do not intend. There is
something diabolically ingenious about destiny. It lies in wait for you,
it seems to leave everything to your own choice, it makes you think that
you are a perfectly free agent, and then, without the least warning, it
springs at you from behind a tree, knocks you down, tramples the breath
out of you, and drags you off by the heels straight to the very thing
you have sworn to avoid. Man a free agent? Nonsense! There is no such
thing as free will."

"What in the world has happened to you?" Guido asked, by way of answer.
"Is anything wrong?"

"Everything is wrong. Good night. You ought to be dressing for dinner."

"Come with me."

"To dine with people whom I hardly know, and who have not asked me?
Besides, I told you that I meant to dine at home."

"At least, promise me that you will go with me to-morrow to the Villa
Madama."

"No."

"Look here, Lamberti," said Guido, changing his tone, "you and I have
known each other since we were boys, and I do not believe there exist
two men who are better friends. I am not sure that the Contessina
Palladio will marry me, but her mother wishes it, and heaven knows that
I do. They are both perfectly well aware that you are my most intimate
friend. If you absolutely refuse to go near them they can only suppose
that you have something against them. They have already asked me if they
are never to see you. Now, what will it cost you to be decently civil to
a lady who may be my wife next year, and to her mother, who was your
mother's friend long ago? You need not stay half an hour at the villa
unless you please. But go with me. Let them see you with me. If I really
marry, do you suppose I am going to have any one but you for my best
man?"

Lamberti listened to this long speech without attempting to interrupt
Guido. Then he was silent for a few moments.

"If you put it in that light," he said, rising to go, "I cannot refuse.
What time shall you start? I will come here for you."

"Thank you," said Guido. "I should like to get there early. At four
o'clock, I should say. I suppose we ought not to leave here later than
half-past three."

"Very well. I shall be here in plenty of time. Good night."

When Guido pressed his hand, it was icy cold.