causes of what we feel, in spite of modern analysis; but the heart rarely deceives us, when we can see the truth for ourselves, into bestowing the more praise upon the less brave of two deeds.  But we do not often see the truth as it is.  We know little of the lives of others, but we are apt to think that other people understand our own very well, including our good deeds if we have done any, and we expect full measure of credit for these, and the utmost allowance of charity for our sins.  In other words we desire our neighbour to combine a power of forgiveness almost divine with a capacity for flattery more than parasitic.  That is why we are not easily satisfied with our acquaintances and that is why our friends do not always turn out to be truthful persons.  We ask too much for the low price we offer, and if we insist we get the imitation.

Orsino loved Maria Consuelo with all his heart, as much as a young man of little more than one and twenty can love the first woman to whom he is seriously attached.  There was nothing heroic in the passion, perhaps, nothing which could ultimately lead to great results.  But it was a strong love, nevertheless, with much, of devotion in it and some latent violence.  If he did not marry Maria Consuelo, it was not likely that he would ever love again in exactly the same way.  His next love would be either far better or far worse, far nobler or far baser—­perhaps a little less human in either case.

He walked slowly away from the hotel, unconscious of the people in the street and not thinking of the direction he took.  His brain was in a whirl and his thoughts seemed to revolve round some central point upon which they could not concentrate themselves even for a second.  The only thing of which he was sure was that Maria Consuelo had taken herself from him suddenly and altogether, leaving him with a sense of loneliness which he had not known before.  He had gone to her in considerable distress about his affairs, with the certainty of finding sympathy and perhaps advice.  He came away, as some men have returned from a grave accident, apparently unscathed it may be, but temporarily deprived of some one sense, of sight, or hearing, or touch.  He was not sure that he was awake, and his troubled reflexions came back by the same unvarying round to the point he had reached the first time—­if Maria Consuelo really loved him, she would not let such obstacles as she spoke of hinder her union with him.

For a time Orsino was not conscious of any impulse to act.  Gradually, however, his real nature asserted itself, and he remembered how he had told her not long ago that if she went away he would follow her, and how he had said that the world was small and that he would soon find her again.  It would undoubtedly be a simple matter to accompany her, if she left Rome.  He could easily ascertain the hour of her intended departure and that alone would tell him the direction she had chosen.  When she found that she had not escaped him she would very probably give up the attempt and come back, her humour would change and his own eloquence would do the rest.