He understands perfectly how matters are between you
and me."

"Oh, no doubt," says Miss Blount, disgustedly. "Everyone seems to know
all about this _absurd_ engagement. I can't think how I was ever brought
to consent to it."

"_Absurd!_" says Mr. Dare, in an impossible tone.

"Yes, _painfully_ absurd! Quite too ridiculous," with unpleasant force.

"Oh!" says Mr. Dare.

"Yes," says Dulce, still defiant, though a little ashamed of herself,
"it is quite enough to make people _hate_ people, all this perpetual
gossip."

"You are at least honest," he says, bitterly.

Silence.

Dulce, whose tempers are always short-lived, after a little reflection
grows very repentant.

Turning to him, she lays her little hand on his, as it still rests on
the arm of her chair, and says, softly:

"I have been cross to you. Forgive me. I did not quite mean it. Tell me
again what you want me to do about your friend."

"It was only a little matter," says Roger, in a low tone, "and it was, I
think, the first favor I ever asked of you; and I thought, perhaps--"

He pauses. And raising himself from his lounging position, on her chair,
moves as though he would go away from her, having abandoned all hope of
having his request acceded to.

But as he turns from her, her fingers tighten upon his, and so she
detains him.

"What is it now?" he asks, coldly, trying to keep up his dignity, but as
his glance meets hers, he melts. And, in truth, just now she could have
thawed a much harder heart, for on her _mignon_ face sits one of her
very loveliest smiles, conjured up for Roger's special benefit.

"Don't go away," she entreats, prettily, "and listen to me. I shall be
charming to your friend. I shall devote myself exclusively to him if it
will please you; and if only to prove to you that I _can_ grant you a
favor."

"Thank you," says Roger gratefully. Then he regards her meditatively for
a moment, and then says, slowly:

"Don't be too kind to him."

"Could I?" says Dulce, naively.

He laughs a little, and, bending his head, presses his lips to the
little slender hand that still rests within his own.

The caress is so unusual that Dulce glances at him curiously from under
her long lashes. A faint, pink glow creeps into her cheeks. She is
surprised; perhaps, too, a little pleased, because once again this
evening she bestows upon him a smile, soft and radiant.

Mr. Browne is rambling on in some incoherent fashion to Julia Beaufort.