"If you are not that," he continued, "you never loved Guido at all, but really believed you did, because you did not know what love was, and you are sure that you love this other man with all your heart."
Cecilia was still silent, but a delicate colour was rising in her pale face.
"Has the other ever made love to you?" Lamberti asked.
"No, no—never!"
She could not help answering him and forgetting that she might have been offended. She loved him beyond words, he did not know it, and he was unconsciously asking her questions about himself.
"Is he younger than Guido? Handsomer? Has he a great name? A great fortune?"
"Are those reasons for loving a man?"
Cecilia asked the question reproachfully, and as she looked at him and thought of what he was, and how little she cared for the things he had spoken of, but how wholly for the man himself, her love for him rose in her face, against her will.
"There must be something about him which makes you prefer him to Guido," he said obstinately.
"Yes. But I do not know what it is. Do not ask me about him."