't _you_?"

"Yes, of course," says Mr. Gower, but in a tone that belies his words.

"Just so," says Dulce, "then let us continue happy. I am sure all these
past months I have been utterly content."

"You mean ever since Roger's departure?" asks he, eagerly.

"Yes; principally, I suppose _because_ of his departure." There is a
good deal of unnecessary warmth in this speech. Yet the flush has faded
from her cheeks now, and she is looking down toward the sea with a
little set expression round her usually mobile lips.

"We are happy now, but why should we not be even happier if we were
married?" asks Stephen, presently, trying to read her averted face.

"Why? Who can answer that?" exclaims she, turning her face inland
again, with a little saucy smile. Her thoughts of a moment since are
determinately put out of sight, resolutely banished. "You surely don't
believe at this time of day that a bird in the hand is worth two in the
bush? That is old-world rubbish! Take my word for it, that _two_ birds
in the hand do not come up to even one sweet, provoking, unattainable
bird in the bush!"

She has risen, and is now standing before him, as she says this, with
her hands clasping each other behind her head, and her body well thrown
back. Perhaps she does not know how charming her figure appears in this
position. Perhaps she does. She is smiling down at Gower in a half
defiant, wholly tantalizing fashion, and is as like the "sweet,
provoking, unattainable bird" as ever she can be.

Rising slowly to his feet, Gower goes up to her, and, as is his lawful
right, encircles her bonnie round waist with his arm.

"I don't know about the bird," he says, "but this I _do_ know, that in
my eyes you are worth two of anything in all this wide world."

His tone is so full of feeling, so replete with real, unaffected
earnestness and affection that she is honestly touched. She even suffers
his arm to embrace her (for the time being), and turns her eyes upon him
kindly enough.

"How fond you are of me," she says, regretfully. "Too fond. I am not
worth it." Then, in a curious tone, "How strange it is that you should
love me so dearly when Roger actually _disliked_ me!"

"You are always thinking of your cousin," exclaims he, with a quick
frown. "He seems never very far from your thoughts."

"How can I help that," says Dulce, with an attempt at lightness; "it is
so difficult to rid the mind of a distasteful subject."

"And," eagerly--"it