st ass I ever met in my
life," says Mr. Gower, with touching conviction, and out of the
innocence of his heart.

"Is he?" asks Dulce, with a sudden and most unexpected change of tone. A
frown darkens the fair face. Is it that she is looking back with horror
upon the time when she was engaged to this "ass," or is it--"You have
met a good many, no doubt?"

"Well, a considerable few in my time," replies he. "But I must say I
never saw a poorer specimen of his kind--and his name, too, such an
insane thing. Reminds one of that romping old English dance and nothing
else. Why on earth couldn't the fellow get a respectable name like any
other fellow."

This is all so fearfully absurd, that at any other time, and under any
other circumstances, it would have moved Dulce to laughter.

"Isn't the name, Roger, respectable?" asks she, sweetly, as though
desirous of information.

"Oh, well, it's respectable enough, I suppose; or at least it is hideous
enough for that or anything."

"Must a thing be hideous to be respectable?" asks she again, turning her
lovely face, crowned with the sunburnt hair, full on his.

"You don't understand me," he says, with some confusion. "I was only
saying what an ugly name Dare has."

"Now, _do_ you think so?" wonders Miss Blount, dreamily, "I don't. I
can't endure my cousin, _as you know_, but I really think his name very
pretty, quite the prettiest I know, even," innocently, "prettier than
Stephen!"

"I'm sorry I can't agree with you," says Stephen, stiffly.

Miss Blount, with her fingers interlaced, is watching him furtively, a
little petulant expression in her eyes.

"It seems to me you think more of your absent cousin than of--of anyone
in the world," says Gower, sullenly. Fear of what her answer may be has
induced him to leave his own name out of the question altogether.

"As I told you before, one always thinks most of what is unpleasing to
one."

"Oh, I daresay!" says Mr. Gower.

"I don't think I quite understand you. What do you mean by that?" asks
she, with suspicious sweetness.

"Dulce," says Stephen, miserably, "say you _hate_ Roger."

"I have often said it. I detest him. Why," with a sudden touch of
passion, "do you make me repeat it over and over again? Why do you make
me think of him at all?"

"I don't know," sadly. "It is madness on my part, I think; and yet I
believe I have no real cause to fear him. He is so utterly unworthy of
you. He has behaved so badly to you