her closely, feels a terrible despair that threatens
to overwhelm him. If only one little blush would mantle her cheek, if
for one second her beautiful, feverishly bright eyes would droop before
his! He battles with the growing misery, and for the time being, allays
it.

"Not yet;" he says. Then he colors hotly, and his eyes leaving her face
seek the ground. A sense of shame betrays itself in every feature. "It
is early yet," he says, in a strange reluctant tone; "and if--if you
think it better to put it off for a day or two, or even to let him find
out for himself by degrees--or--"

"No!"--remorselessly--"he shall be told _now--at once_! Remember all you
said about him last evening. _I_ have not forgotten. What!" cries she,
with sudden passion, "do you think I will live another day believing he
imagines me regretful of my decision--cut to the heart, perhaps, that I
am no longer anything to him? I tell you no! The very thought is
intolerable."

"But--"

"There must be no hesitation," she says, interrupting him with a quick
gesture. "It was in our agreement that he should be told to-day. If one
part of that agreement is to be broken, why then, let us break it all;
it is not too late yet. _I_ shall not care, and perhaps it will be
better if--"

Her cruelty stings him into vehement declaration.

"It will _not_ be better," he says, wrathfully. "I will do anything,
everything, you wish, except"--bitterly--"give you up."

To him it seems a wretched certainty that it _is_ her wish _already_ to
break the bond formed between them but a few short hours ago. Has she so
soon repented?

"Where is Roger?" he asks, turning from her, all the lover's gladness
gone from his eyes. He is looking stern and pale, and as a man might who
is determined to do that against which his soul revolts.

How shall he tell this man, who was once his dearest friend, that he has
behaved as a very traitor to him.

"In the stables, no doubt," replies she, scornfully. The change in his
manner has not touched her; nay, he tells himself it has not so much as
been noticed by her.

Moving abruptly away, he goes down the hall and out of the open door,
and down the stone steps across the gleaming sunshine, and so is lost to
sight.

Dulce watches him until the portico outside hides him from view, and
then, walking very slowly and with bent head, she goes in the direction
of Fabian's room. She is so absorbed in her own reflections that she
hardly he