veral minutes; Dulce is getting on
quite smoothly; Mr. Gower is plainly interested in a very high degree,
when Roger, coming up to them, lays his hand lightly upon Dulce's
shoulder. He is still passionately angry, and almost unable to control
himself. To see Dulce's fingers clasped by those of Gower, however
innocently, has fired his wrath, and driven him to open expression of
his displeasure.

"If you have forgotten how to write, Dulce," he says in a low, strained
voice, "I daresay it will be possible to find a master to re-instruct
you. In the meantime, why trouble Gower?"

"Does it trouble you, Mr. Gower?" asks she, sweetly, looking straight at
Stephen and ignoring Roger.

"Need I answer that?" responds he, flushing warmly, and in his turn
ignoring Dare.

"Then you need not worry yourself to get me a master, Roger," says
Dulce, still quite sweetly. "It is very good of you to wish to take such
trouble about me, but you see I have got one already."

"Not a master--a slave!" says Gower, impulsively. There's such evident
and earnest meaning in his tone that she colors violently, and, with a
rather open manifestation of shrinking, withdraws her hand from his
clasp; the pencil falls to the ground, but Roger has turned aside, and
this last act on her part is unseen by him.

"Is anything the matter with Roger?" says Gower, slowly.

"What should be the matter with him?" asks she, coldly.

"Do you remember what we were reading yesterday? Do you remember even
one particular line? It comes to me now. 'So loving jealous.' You
recollect?"

"No; and even if I did, what has it to do with Roger?"

"Nothing--_perhaps_." There is a small fine smile around his lips that
incenses her, she scarcely knows why.

"Then what does your quotation mean?"

"Nothing, too, no doubt. Shall we go on with our lesson?"

"No, I am tired of it," she says, petulantly. "I like nothing, I think,
for very long." She has grown somewhat restless, and her eyes are
wistful. They are following Roger, who has thrown himself at Portia's
feet.

"Are your friendships, too, short-lived?" asks Gower, biting his lips.
You can see that he is lounging on the grass, and at this moment, having
raised his hand, it falls again, by chance upon her instep.

Remorse and regret have been companions of her bosom for the past
minute, now they quicken into extreme anger. Pushing back the garden
chair on which she has been sitting, she stands up and confronts the