“I believe it—­”

“Then say ’good-bye, Consuelo’—­and kiss me once—­for what might have been.”

Orsino half rose, bent down and kissed her cheek.

“Good-bye, Consuelo,” he said, almost whispering the words into her ear.  In his heart he did not think she meant it.  He still expected that she would call him back.

“It is good-bye, dear—­believe it—­remember it!” Her voice shook a little now.

“Good-bye, Consuelo,” he repeated.

With a loving look that meant no good-bye he drew back and went to the door.  He laid his hand on the handle and paused.  She did not speak.  Then he looked at her again.  Her head had fallen back against a cushion and her eyes were half closed.  He waited a second and a keen pain shot through him.  Perhaps she was in earnest after all.  In an instant he had recrossed the room and was on his knees beside her trying to take her hands.

“Consuelo—­darling—­you do not really mean it!  You cannot, you will not—­”

He covered her hands with kisses and pressed them to his heart.  For a few moments she made no movement, but her eyelids quivered.  Then she sprang to her feet, pushing him back violently as he rose with her, and turning her face from him.

“Go—­go!” she cried wildly.  “Go—­let me never see you again—­never, never!”

Before he could stop her, she had passed him with a rush like a swallow on the wing and was gone from the room.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Orsino was not in an enviable frame of mind when he left the hotel.  It is easier to bear suffering when one clearly understands all its causes, and distinguishes just how great a part of it is inevitable and how great a part may be avoided or mitigated.  In the present case there was much in the situation which it passed his power to analyse or comprehend.  He still possessed the taste for discovering motives in the actions of others as well as in his own, but many months of a busy life had dulled the edge of the artificial logic in which he had formerly delighted, while greatly sharpening his practical wit.  Artificial analysis supplies from the imagination the details lacking in facts, but common sense needs something more tangible upon which to work.  Orsino felt that the chief circumstance which had determined Maria Consuelo’s conduct had escaped him, and he sought in vain to detect it.

He rejected the supposition that she was acting upon a caprice, that she had yesterday believed it possible to marry him, while a change of humour made marriage seem out of the question to-day.  She was as capricious as most women, perhaps, but not enough so for that.  Besides, she had been really consistent.  Not even yesterday had she been shaken for a moment in her resolution not to be Orsino’s wife.  To-day had confirmed yesterday therefore.  However Orsino might have still doubted her intention when he had gone to her side for the last time, her behaviour then and her final words had been unmistakable.  She meant to leave Rome at once.