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276 Francesca watched the rapidly receding figure in mute amazement.

There is something peculiarly attractive to a woman in any display of strong emotion, though she has herself no part in it. Evelyn's pale countenance and disturbed manner awakened in Francesca the most tender interest. Involuntarily, she recurred to the period of their earliest acquaintance—their first meeting, when each felt attracted to the other, they knew not wherefore; how shyness deepened into timidity, and how that gradually melted away before the sweet confidence of mutual affection. She remembered how, one long summer day, they had, together with Guido, wandered amid the ruins of ancient Rome; and how, while Guido dwelt on the poetry of the present, Evelyn rather turned to the history of the past,—and with what a noble enthusiasm! How many true and generous feelings had found all unconscious vent in words! "Beloved Evelyn," exclaimed she; "I am infected with the worldly atmosphere around. I do you less than justice, because necessity forces you to conform to the false and frivolous spirit which here seems the very soul of existence,—I forget what your higher nature really is; rather ought I to blame my own judgment, which looks not behind the mask."