"Yes," agreed Fru Bjork, "I have told her so, but she won't listen to me. She really is not at all well. I wish you would advise her, Doctor, indeed I do. The child worries me, what with her pale looks, and no appetite, and headaches and fainting fits." Ragna anxiously met the Doctor's scrutinizing gaze. "I wish you would prescribe for me; Fru Bjork is right. I am really not myself," she said simply. Ferrati skilfully changed the subject and they chatted on gaily enough, until the Lido was reached. The little tram took them across the island, and while the others went to the dressing-rooms to change for the bath, the Doctor and Ragna walked out on to the terrace fronting the sea. They found two chairs, a little apart from the groups of smiling, chattering people, and when they had seated themselves, Ragna opened the conversation. "Tell me the truth, Doctor, why should I not bathe?" Ferrati met her question with a searching glance; was she in good faith, or feigning? "Do you not know, then, Signorina, what is the matter with you?" "You say I am anæmic, I have headaches, and dizzy spells--" a horrible doubt suddenly thrust itself upwards in her mind. "For God's sake, Doctor, tell me what it is?" "Surely you must have an idea--" He hesitated, then in answer to the appeal for frankness in her eyes, he continued in a lower tone. "Signorina, you are _enceinte_. Is it possible that you have not guessed it?" Ragna paled, and her head fell back against the wooden support of the awning. Ferrati hastily summoned a waiter, and bade him bring a glass of cognac, which he made the girl take. The colour slowly crept back to her lips and cheeks; she made one or two efforts to speak, but was only able to swallow convulsively; finally in a husky voice she asked: "How long have you known, suspected--this?" "For about two months now--suspected, I say--but when I saw you on the boat, I was sure. Of course I may be mistaken, an examination would be necessary to be quite certain--there are tumours--" "Will you examine me then--to-day? I must know, I must be sure--Oh, my God, I never thought of this!" He gazed at her curiously, half cynically, yet impressed by her sincerity of manner. "But surely, you must have known? You are young, Signorina, but you are not a child." Her eyes fell before his. "I did not know--I never thought of this!" she repeated dully. His doubting expression faded before the despairing misery of her pale face. "No," he thought, "she did not know or she could not look like this." The girl's attitude was not one of discovered shame, but that of a person felled by a sudden blow. She looked dazed, stricken. People in bright summer dress were laughing, and joking all about; some were drinking Vermouth. From the sands below came the voices of happy children, and bathers in gay costumes made merry in the sparkling blue water. "You are sure, quite sure?" Ragna asked suddenly, in a low, terrible voice.