nnocently expressed at her cousin's return
had certainly given him a severe shock, but _now_ there is no reason why
he should not remain victor, and keep the prize he had been at such
pains to win.

All is going well. Even with Roger freshly returned by her side, she has
shown kindness to him, she has smiled upon him with a greater warmth
than usual. I daresay she is determined to show her cousin her
preference for _him_ (Stephen). This thought makes him positively glow
with hope and pride. By guarding against any insidious advances on the
part of the enemy, by being ever at Dulce's side to interpose between
her and any softly worded sentimental converse, he may conquer and drive
the foe from off the field.

Not once this evening until the friendly bedroom candlesticks are
produced will he quit her side--never until--

In one moment his designs are frustrated. All his plans are laid low.
The voice of Julia breaks upon his ear like a death-knell. She, being
fully convinced in her own mind that "poor dear Stephen" is feeling
himself in the cold, and is, therefore, inconceivably wretched,
determines, with most mistaken kindness, to come to the rescue.

"Stephen, _may_ I ask you to do something for me?" she says, in her
sweetest tones and with her most engaging smile.

"You may," says Mr. Gower, as in duty bound, and in an awful tone.

"Then do come and help me to wind this wool," says Julia, still in her
most fetching manner, holding out for his inspection about as much
scarlet wool as it would take an hour to wind, doing it at one's utmost
speed.

With a murderous expression Stephen crosses the room to where she is
sitting--at the very antipodes from where he would be, that is, from
Dulce--and drops sullenly into a chair at her side.

"Poor dear fellow, already he is feeling injured and out of spirits,"
says Julia to herself, regarding him with furtive compassion.

"Beast! she is in a plot against me!" says Mr. Gower to his own soul,
feeling he could willingly strangle her with her red wool.

So do we misunderstand the feelings and motives of our best friends in
this world.

Dulce and Roger thus left to their own resources, continue to be openly
and unrestrainedly happy. Every now and then a laugh from one or other
of them comes to the stricken Stephen, sitting on his stool of
repentance, winding the endless wool. By and by it becomes worse when no
laugh is heard, and when the two upon the ottoman seem to be