hings now: either that you never liked Stephen, and
always lov--liked me, or else you are trying to make a fool of me for
the second time. Which is it?"

To this Miss Blount declines to make any reply.

"I won't leave this spot to-day until you answer me," says Roger, fell
determination on his brow; "Which--is--it?"

"I'm sure, at least, that I never liked Stephen in _that_ way,"
confesses she, faintly.

"And you did like me?"

Silence again.

"Then," says Mr. Dare, wrathfully, "for the sake of a mere whim, a
caprice, you flung me over and condemned me to months of misery? Did you
know what you were doing? Did _you_ feel unhappy? I hope to goodness you
_did_," says Roger, indignantly; "if you endured even one quarter of
what I have suffered, it would be punishment sufficient for you."

"Had you nothing to do with it?" asks she, nervously.

"No; it was entirely your own fault," replies he, hastily. Whereupon she
very properly bursts into tears.

"Every woman," says some one, "is in the wrong till she cries; then,
instantly, she is in the right."

So it is with Dulce. No sooner does Roger see "her tears down fa'" than,
metaphorically speaking, he is on his knees before her. I am sure but
for the people on the lake, who might find an unpleasant amount of
amusement in the tableau, he would have done so literally.

"Don't do that," he entreats, earnestly. "Don't Dulce. I have behaved
abominably to you. It was _not_ your fault; it was all mine. But for my
detestable temper--"

"And the chocolate creams," puts in Dulce, sobbing.

"It would never have occurred. Forgive me," implores he, distractedly,
seeing her tears are rather on the increase than otherwise. "I must be a
brute to speak to you as I have done."

"I won't contradict you," says Miss Blount, politely, still sobbing.
There is plainly a great deal of indignation mingled with her grief. To
say it was all _her_ fault, indeed, when he knows.

"Don't cry any more," says Roger, coaxingly, trying to draw her hands
down from her eyes; "don't, now, you have got to go back to the others,
you know, and they will be wondering what is the matter with you. They
will think you had a bad fall."

This rouses her; she wipes her eyes hastily and looks up.

"How shall I explain to them?" she asks, anxiously.

"We won't explain at all. Let me take off your skates, and we will walk
up and down here until your eyes are all right again. Why, really,"
stooping to look