“Indeed I do!” assented Marcello.

“Yes.  The question is, whether the way to make her happy is to marry her, when you have a reasonable doubt as to whether you can be a good husband to her.  That is the real problem, it seems to me.  Do you love her enough to give up the life to which you were born, and for which you were educated?  You would have to do that, you know.  Our friends—­your dear mother’s friends, my boy—­would never receive her, least of all after what has happened.”

“I know it.”

“You would have to wander about Europe, or live in San Domenico, for you could not bear to live in Rome, meeting women who would not bow to your wife.  I know you.  You could not possibly bear it.”

“I should think not!”

“No.  Therefore, since you have the doubt, since you are not absolutely sure of yourself, I think the only thing to do is to find out what you really feel, before taking an irreparable step.”

“Yes,” said Marcello, who had fallen into the trap laid for him.  “I know that.  But how am I to make sure of myself?”

“There is only one way,” Folco answered.  “I know it is not easy, and if I were not sure that you are perfectly sincere I should be afraid to propose it to you.”

“What is it?  Tell me.  You are the only friend I have in the world, Folco, and I want to do what is right.  God knows, I am in earnest!  There are moments when I cannot imagine living without Regina—­it seemed hard to leave her this morning, even for these few hours, and I long to be back at Pontresina already!  Yet you know how fond I am of you, and how I like to be with you, for we have always been more like brothers than anything else.”

“Indeed we have!” Folco assented fervently.  “You were saying that there were moments—­yes?”

“Sometimes she jars upon me dreadfully,” Marcello said in a low voice, as if he were ashamed of owning it.  “Then I want to get away.”

“Exactly.  You want to get away, not to leave her, but to be alone for a few hours, or a few days.  That would be the very best thing you could do—­to separate for a little while.  You would very soon find out whether you could live without her or not; and believe me, if you feel that you can live without her, that means that you could not live with her for your whole life.”

“I should go back to her in twenty-four hours.  I am sure I should.”

“Perhaps you would, if you went, say, from here to Paris alone, with nothing to distract your attention.  But suppose that you and I should go together, to some place where we should meet our friends, all amusing themselves, where you could talk to other women, and meet men of your own age, and lead the life people expect you to lead, just for a few weeks.  You know that society will be only too glad to see something of you, whenever you choose to go near it.  You are what is called a good match, and all the mothers with marriageable daughters would run after you.”