“What has become of the old silver cup,” Marcello asked, “and all the little things that used to be about?”

“We took them away with us when we let the apartment, and they are not unpacked yet, though we have been here two months.”

“Two months?”

“Yes.  I was wondering whether you were ever coming to see us again!”

“Were you?  I fancied that you would not care very much to see me now.”

Aurora said nothing to this, and they both looked at the fire for some time.  The gentle sound of the little flames was cheerful, and gave them both the impression of a third person, talking quietly.

“I should not have come to-day,” Marcello said at last, “except that something has happened.”

“Nothing bad, I hope!” Aurora looked up with a sudden anxiety that surprised him.

“Bad?  No.  At least, I think not.  Why are you startled?”

“I have had a headache,” Aurora explained.  “I am a little nervous, I fancy.  What is it that has happened?”

Marcello glanced at her doubtfully before he answered.  Her quick interest in whatever chanced to him took him back to the old times in an instant.  The place was familiar and quiet; her voice was like forgotten music, once delightful, and now suddenly recalled; her face had only changed to grow more womanly.

“You never thought of marrying Folco, did you?” he asked, all at once, and a little surprised at the sound of his own words.

“I?” Aurora started again, but not with anxiety.  “How can you think such a thing?”

“I don’t think it; but an hour ago, at the villa, he told me in almost so many words that you loved him and meant to accept him.”

A blush of honest anger rose in the girl’s fair face, and subsided instantly.

“And what did you say?” she asked, with a scarcely perceptible tremor in her tone.

“I turned him out of the house,” Marcello answered quietly.

“Turned him out?” Aurora seemed amazed.  “You turned him out because he told you that?”

“That and other things.  But that was the beginning of it.  I told him that he was lying, and he called me names, and then I told him to go.  He will be gone when I reach home.”

To Marcello’s surprise, Aurora got up suddenly, crossed the room and went to one of the windows.  Marcello rose, too, and stood still.  She seemed to be looking out at the rain, but she had grasped one of the curtains tightly, and it looked as if she were pressing the other hand to her left side.  For a second her head bent forward a little and her graceful shoulders moved nervously, as though she were trying to swallow something hard.  Marcello watched her a moment, and then crossed the room and stood beside her.

“What is it?” he asked in a low voice, and laying his hand gently on hers that held the curtain.

She drew her own away quietly and turned her head.  Her eyes were dry and bright, but there were deep bistre shadows under them that had not been there before, and the lower lids were swollen.