hes were ragged and their little shoes were
out at the toes.

But they were the only reasons she had, and she coaxed them into a sort
of unreal activity till they brought her back to the listless state in
which she had lived of late, and in which it did not matter what became
of her, since she must marry Guido in the end.

Her mother paid no attention to her moods. Cecilia had always been
subject to moods, she said to herself, and it was not at all strange
that she should not behave like other girls. Guido seemed satisfied, and
that was the main thing, after all. He was not, but he was careful not
to say so.

The preparations for the wedding went on, and the Countess made up her
mind that it should take place at the end of July. It would be so much
more convenient to get it over at once, and the sooner Cecilia returned
from her honeymoon, the sooner her mother could see her again. The good
lady knew that she should be very unhappy when she was separated from
the child she had idolised all her life; but she had always looked upon
marriage as an absolute necessity, and after being married twice
herself, she was inclined to consider it as an absolute good. She would
no more have thought of delaying the wedding from selfish considerations
than she would have thought of cutting off Cecilia's beautiful hair in
order to have it made up into a false braid and wear it herself. So she
busied herself with the dressmakers, and only regretted that both
Cecilia and Guido flatly refused to go to Paris. It did not matter quite
so much, because only three months had elapsed since the last interview
with Doucet, and all the new summer things had come; and after all one
could write, and some things were very good in Rome, as for instance all
the fine needle-work done by the nuns. It would have been easier if
Cecilia had shown some little interest in her wedding outfit.

The girl tried hard to care about what was being made for her, and was
patient in having gowns tried on, and in listening to her mother's
advice. The days passed slowly and it grew hotter.

After she had become engaged to Guido, she had broken with her dream
life by an effort which had cost her more than she cared to remember.

She had felt that it was not the part of a faithful woman to go on
loving an imaginary man in her dreams, when she was the promised wife of
another, even though she loved that other less or not at all.

It was a maidenly and an honest convict