He knew indeed that there was no longer any hope for his friend.
"Yes," he added thoughtfully. "It was in your eyes just then, when you were speaking, just as if that man had been there before you. I shall know who he is if I ever see you together. It is understood, then," he went on, changing his tone, "I am to tell him that you wish to put off the marriage till you are more sure of yourself—that you wrote that letter under an impulse."
"Yes, that is true. And you wish me to try to make him understand by degrees that it is all over, and to go away from Rome in a few days, asking him not to follow me at once."
"I think that is the kindest thing you can do. On my part I will give him what hope I can that you may change your mind again."
"You know that I never shall."
"I may hope what I please. There is always a possibility. We are human, after all. One may hope against conviction. May I see you again to-morrow to tell you how he takes your message?"
To his surprise Cecilia hesitated several seconds before she answered.
"Of course," she said at last. "Or you can write to me or to my mother, which will save you the trouble of coming here."
"It is no trouble," Lamberti answered mechanically. "But of course it is painful for you to talk about it all, so unless something unexpected happens I will write a line to your mother to say that Guido accepts your decision, and to let you know how he is. If there is anything wrong, I will come in the evening."
"Thank you. That is the best way."