"You will think and speak more calmly, sir, when we meet again," and so
saying, she swept away.

Cesarini remained rooted to the spot, with his dark countenance
expressing such passions as are rarely seen in the aspects of civilised
men.

"Where do you lodge, Signor Cesarini?" asked the bland, familiar voice
of Ferrers. "Let us walk part of the way together--that is, when you
are tired of these hot rooms."

Cesarini groaned. "You are ill," continued Ferrers; "the air will
revive you--come." He glided from the room, and the Italian
mechanically followed him. They walked together for some moments in
silence, side by side, in a clear, lovely, moonlight night. At length
Ferrers said, "Pardon me, my dear signor, but you may already have
observed that I am a very frank, odd sort of fellow. I see you are
caught by the charms of my cruel cousin. Can I serve you in any way?"

A man at all acquainted with the world in which we live would have been
suspicious of such cordiality in the cousin of an heiress, towards a
very unsuitable aspirant. But Cesarini, like many indifferent poets
(but like few good ones), had no common sense. He thought it quite
natural that a man who admired his poetry so much as Lumley had declared
he did, should take a lively interest in his welfare; and he therefore
replied warmly, "Oh, sir, this is indeed a crushing blow: I dreamed she
loved me. She was ever flattering and gentle when she spoke to me, and
in verse already I had told her of my love, and met with no rebuke."