"I am very sorry if I offended you by not coming more often to your house," he said. "Guido told me. I thought perhaps you would understand why I did not come."
Cecilia looked at him and was silent for a moment, but she felt very strong and sure of herself.
"Signor Lamberti," she said presently, "I want to ask you to do something—for me."
There was a little emphasis on the last word. He turned quite towards her now, but he still made chords on the instrument, for he knew that the Countess had extraordinary ears. His impulse was to tell her that he would do anything she asked of him, no matter how hard it might be; but he controlled it.
"Certainly," he answered. "What is it?"
"Forget that we met in the Forum, and forget what we said to each other at the garden party. Will you? It was all a coincidence, of course, but I behaved very foolishly, and I do not like to think that you remember it. Will you try and forget it all?"
"I will try," Lamberti answered, looking down at the keys. "At all events, I can promise never to remind you of it, as I did just now."
"That is what I meant," Cecilia said. "Let us never remind each other of it. Of course we cannot really forget, in our own selves, but we can begin again from the beginning, this evening, as if it had never happened. We can be real friends, as we ought to be."
"Can we?" Lamberti asked the question in a doubtful tone, and glanced uneasily at her.
"I can, if you can," she answered courageously, "and I mean to be."