"Oh, I thought you did; I used to wonder at it." Ugo grew thoughtful.
"I was always good to him," said Donna Tullia. "But of course I can never forgive him for what he did at the Frangipani ball."
"No; nor I," answered Del Ferice, readily. "I shall always hate him for that too."
"I do not say that I exactly hate him."
"You have every reason. It appears to me that since my illness we have another idea in common, another bond of sympathy." Del Ferice spoke almost tenderly; but he laughed immediately afterwards, as though not wishing his words to be interpreted too seriously. Donna Tullia smiled too; she was inclined to be very kind to him.
"You are very quick to jump at conclusions," she said, playing with her red fan and looking down.
"It is always easy to reach that pleasant conclusion—that you and I are in sympathy," he answered, with a tender glance, "even in regard to hating the same person. The bond would be close indeed, if it depended on the opposite of hate. And yet I sometimes think it does. Are you not the best friend I have in the world?"
"I do not know,—I am a good friend to you," she answered.
"Indeed you are; but do you not think it would be possible to cement our friendship even more closely yet?"
Donna Tullia looked up sharply; she had no idea of allowing him to propose to marry her. His face, however, was grave—unlike his usual expression when he meant to be tender, and which she knew very well.