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The German critic was quite welcome to see both, and perhaps knew something about prints which might be worth learning. He was probably writing a book. Germans were always writing books. Guido wrote a line to thank his aunt for her letter, and to say that her friend would be welcome at the appointed hour. He was sealing the note when the door opened and Lamberto Lamberti came in.
She rose, and he followed her as she moved slowly forward. "What a charming talent you have!" cried the Countess in an encouraging tone, when Lamberti was near her. "Have you made acquaintance at last?" Guido was asking of Cecilia, in an undertone. "Yes," she answered gravely. "I think we shall be good friends."
"Why not say so now?" asked the doctor. "The names of things do not matter in the least. Let us say that you are haunted, if that describes what troubles you. Very good. What haunts you?" "A young girl," Lamberti answered, after a moment's pause. "Do you mean that you see, or think you see, the apparition of a young girl who is dead?" "She is alive, but I have only met her once.
"So you are going to marry an heiress after all," said Lamberti, with something like a laugh. "I love her," Guido replied. "I cannot help the fact that she is rich." "It does no harm." "Perhaps not, but I wish she had no more than I. If she had nothing at all, I should be just as anxious to marry her." "You do not suppose that I doubt that, do you?" Lamberti asked quickly. "No.
It was all her fault, and her eyes had been open from the first, and she was about to see the whole life of a good friend ruined through her miserable weakness. As she went over it all, burying her face in her hands, the conviction that she loved Lamberti grew with amazing quickness to the certainty of a fact long known.
We were at the school of the Sacred Heart together." Lamberti bent his head a little, in acknowledgment of the claim upon him possessed by one of his mother's school friends. "I shall do my best to come," he answered. He felt that the young girl was watching him, and he ventured to look at her, with a little movement, as if he wished to be introduced.
Lamberti stared fixedly at the top of her hat while she bent down. "Of course," Guido said, summoning his strength to bid her good-bye courteously, and to show some gratitude for her visit. "I am sorry I spoke of it. Thank you very much for coming to see me, and for being so frank." In a sense he was glad she had come, for her coming had solved the difficulty in which he had been placed.
"I suppose you had better be the first to know," he said hoarsely, as he recrossed the room with unsteady steps. He sat down upon the edge of his bed, supporting himself with his hands on each side, his head a little bent. "What has happened?" Lamberti asked, sitting on the nearest chair and watching him. "Has your aunt been troubling you again?" "No. It is worse than that."
"No," said Lamberti, not taking the trouble to lower his voice much, "there is nothing more to tell. I do not think I have forgotten anything." He stirred his coffee slowly, but with evident reluctance to stay near her. She would not have been a human woman if she had not been annoyed by his cool manner, and a shade of displeasure passed over her face.
Lamberti wondered what sort of man Palladio had been, since the girl did not at all resemble her mother, who had clearly been pretty and foolish in her youth, and had only lost her looks as she grew older. The obliteration of middle age had set in.
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