"Do you believe that she will not succeed in forgetting me?" he asked, again in anguish.
"I do not know," she replied, shaking her head. "I do not know all the depths of her heart."
"Do you think she loves me very much? That she loves me too much?" he asked with emotion, taking her hands.
"I am ignorant as to how much she loves you. She has not told me. We don't discuss these things in England," added Miss Ford quickly.
"Six weeks together," he murmured thoughtfully, "only six weeks, and a girl of twenty. It is impossible for her to be too much in love with me."
"Let us hope so, if only we may hope so," replied Miss Ford.
"I hope so, I believe it; it must be so. Lilian must be loved by another; she must be happy with another, and forget her shadow of love in the Engadine, her phantom of the Engadine."
The colloquy was ended. The last words came from the lips of the quiet, good Englishwoman.
"Won't you now content my friend, Signor Sabini? Won't you give me a reply to her letter? To the letter I brought you to-day?"
Uncertainly and anxiously he took the letter which remained abandoned on the writing-table. With a rapid movement he tore open the envelope. It contained the following few words in English: