d
Cecilia's face. It seemed utterly impossible that she should look as she
had looked just now, unless there were some very grave matter between
her and Lamberti. All sorts of horrible suspicions clouded Guido's
brain, all sorts of reasons why Lamberti should lie to him, this once,
this only time. Yet he spoke quietly enough.

"It is very strange that two people should behave as you and she do,
when you meet, if you have only met twice. It is past my comprehension."

"It is very strange," Lamberti repeated.

"So strange," said Guido, "that it is very hard to believe. You are
asking a great deal of me."

"I have asked nothing, my friend. You put a question to me,--a
reasonable question, I admit,--and I have answered you with the truth. I
have never touched that young lady's hand, I have only spoken with her
twice in my life, and not alone on either occasion. I did not wish to
come here to-day, but you practically forced me to."

"You did not wish to come, because you knew what would happen," Guido
answered coldly.

"How could I know?"

"That is the question. But you did know, and until you are willing to
explain to me how you knew it----"

He stopped short and looked hard at Lamberti, as if the latter must
understand the rest. His usually gentle and thoughtful face was as hard
and stern as stone. Until lately his friendship for Lamberti had been by
far the strongest and most lasting affection of his life. The thought
that it was to be suddenly broken and ended by an atrocious deception
was hard to bear.

"You mean that if I cannot explain, as you call it, you and I are to be
like strangers. Is that what you mean, Guido? Speak out, man! Let us be
plain."

Guido was silent for a while, leaning over the balcony and looking down,
while Lamberti stood upright and waited for his answer.

"How can I act otherwise?" asked Guido, at last, without looking up.
"You would do the same in my place. So would any man of honour."

"I should try to believe you, whatever you said."

"And if you could not?" Guido enquired almost fiercely.

It was very nearly an insult, but Lamberti answered quietly and firmly.

"Before refusing to believe me, merely on apparent evidence, you can ask
the Contessina herself."

"As if a woman could tell the truth when a man will not!" Guido laughed
harshly.

"You forget that you love her, and that she probably loves you. That
should make a difference."

"What do you wish me to do? Ask h