"It shall be understood most distinctly," Lamberti answered. "You say, too, that you mean never to see this other man again."
"I cannot help seeing him if I stay longer in Rome," Cecilia said.
Lamberti wondered who he might be, with growing hatred of him.
"If he is an honourable man, and if he had the slightest idea that he had unconsciously come between you and Guido, he would go away at once."
"Perhaps he could not," Cecilia suggested.
"That is absurd."
"No. Take your own case. You told me not long ago that you were unfortunately condemned to stay in Rome, unless you gave up your career. He might be in a very similar position. In fact, he is."
There was something so unexpected in the bitter little laugh that followed the last words that Lamberti started. She had kept her secret well, so far, but she had now given him the beginning of a clew. He wished, for once, that he possessed the detective instinct, and could follow the scent. There could not be many men in society who were in a position very similar to his own.
"I wish I knew his name," he said, only half aloud.
But she heard him, and again she laughed a little harshly.