"I do not laugh at friendship at all," Guido answered. "I laugh in order that people may see me and hear me. This is the first service I can render you, to be natural and unconcerned, as I generally am. If I behaved in any unusual way—if I were too grave, or too much interested—you understand!"
"Yes. You are thoughtful. Thank you."
There was a little pause, during which a luxuriant lady in green, who sat on Guido's other side, determined to attract his attention, and spoke to him; but before he could answer, some one opposite asked her a question about dress, which was intensely interesting to her, because she dressed abominably. She promptly fell into the snare which had been set for her with the evil intention of leading her on to talk foolishly. She followed at once, and Guido was free again.
"Now that we are friends," he said to Cecilia, "may I ask you a friendly question?"
"Ask me anything you like," she answered, and her innocent eyes promised him the truth.
"Were you told anything, before we met at my aunt's the other day?"
"Not a word! And you?"
"Nothing," he replied. "I remember that on that very afternoon—" he stopped short.
"What?"
"You may not like what I was going to say."