"He is that, and more," Cecilia said softly. "I like everything about him."
"And he loves you," Lamberti continued. "He loves you as men do not often love the women they marry, and as you, with your fortune, may never be loved again."
"I know it. I feel it. It makes it all the harder."
"But you thought you loved him, I am sure. You would not have accepted him otherwise."
"Yes. Thank you for believing that much of me," Cecilia answered humbly. "I thought I loved him."
"You sent for him this morning, because you had suddenly persuaded yourself that you had made a great mistake. When you heard that he could not come, you wrote the letter, and when it was written you sent it off as fast as you could, for fear that you would not send it at all. Is that true?"
"Yes. That is just what happened. How did you know?"
"Listen to me, please, for d'Este's sake. If you had not felt that you were perhaps making another mistake, should you have been in such a hurry to send the letter?"
Cecilia hesitated an instant.
"It was a hard thing to do. That is why I made haste to get it over. I knew it would hurt him, but I thought it was wrong to deceive him for even a few hours, after I had understood myself."