buried in thought. As Roger dances divinely her remark is
most uncalled for and vexes him more than he would care to confess.

"Don't let me interfere with you and your new friend," he says, lifting
his brows. "If you want to dance all night with Gower, by all means do
it; there is really no earthly reason why you shouldn't."

Here, as his own name falls upon his ears, Gower turns and looks at
Roger expectantly.

"I absolve you willingly from your engagement to me," goes on Roger, his
eyes fixed upon his wilful cousin, his face cold and hard. The extreme
calmness of his tone misleads her. Her lips tighten. A light born of
passionate anger darkens her gray eyes.

"Do you?" she says, a peculiar meaning in her tone.

"From this engagement only," returns he, hastily.

"Thank you. Of your own free will, then, you resign me, and give me
permission to dance with whom I will."

The warm blood is flaming in her cheeks. He has thrown her over very
willingly. He is evidently glad to escape the impending waltz. How
shall she be avenged for this indignity?

"Mr. Gower," she says, turning prettily to Stephen, "will you get me out
of my difficulty? and will you dance this waltz with me? You see," with
a brave effort to suppress some emotion that is threatening to overpower
her, "I have to throw myself upon your mercy."

"You confer a very great honor upon me," says Gower, gently. The
courtesy of his manner is such a contrast to Roger's ill-temper, that
the latter loses the last grain of self-control he possesses. There is,
too, a little smile of conscious malice upon Gower's lips that grows
even stronger as his eyes rest upon the darkened countenance of his
whilom friend. His whilom friend, seeing it, lets wrath burn even
fiercer within his breast.

"You are not engaged to any one else?" says Dulce, sweetly, forgetting
how a moment since she had told Roger she had half promised Gower the
dance in question.

"Even if I was, I am at _your_ service now and always," says Gower.

"As my dancing displeases you so excessively," says Roger, slowly, "it
seems a shame to condemn you to keep the rest of your engagements with
me. I think I have my name down upon your card for two more waltzes.
Forget that, and give them to Gower, or any one else that suits you. For
my part I do not care to--" He checks himself too late.

"Go on," says Dulce, coldly, in an ominously calm fashion. "You had more
to say, surely; you do not care to danc