ho have been silent and most attentive
spectators of the late scene, and who have been enchanted with it--turn
quite pale, and whisper together in a subdued fashion. When the
whispering has reached a certain point, the Boodie gives Jacky an
encouraging push, whereupon that young hero darts away from her side
like an arrow from a bow, and disappears swiftly round the corner.

Meanwhile, having arrived at the Beeches, a rather remote part of the
ground, beautiful in Summer because of the luxuriant foliage of the
trees, but now bleak and bare beneath the rough touch of Winter, Stephen
stops short and faces his companion steadily. His glance is stern and
unforgiving; his whole bearing relentless and forbidding.

To say Miss Blount is feeling nervous would be saying very little. She
is looking crushed in anticipation by the weight of the thunderbolt she
_knows_ is about to fall. Presently it descends, and once down, she
acknowledges to herself it was only a shock after all, worse in the
fancy than in the reality; as are most of our daily fears.

"So you wish our engagement at an end?" says Stephen, quite calmly, in a
tone that might almost be termed mechanical.

He waits remorselessly for an answer.

"I--you--I didn't tell you so," stammers Dulce.

"No prevarications, please. There has been quite enough deception of
late." Dulce looks at him curiously. "Let us adhere to the plain truth
now at least. This is how the case stands. You never loved me; and now
your cousin has returned you find you do love him; that all your former
professions of hatred toward him were just so much air--or, let us say,
so much wounded vanity. You would be released from me. You would gladly
forget I ever played even a small part in the drama of your life. Is not
all this true?"

For the second time this afternoon speech deserts Dulce. She grows very
white, but answer she has none.

"I understand your silence to mean yes," goes on Stephen, in the same
monotonous tone he had just used, out of which every particle of feeling
has been absolutely banished. "It would, let me say, have saved you much
discomfort, and your cousin some useless traveling, if you had
discovered your passion for him sooner." At this Dulce draws her breath
quickly, and throws up her head with a haughty gesture. Very few women
like being _told_ they entertain a passion for a man, no matter how
devotedly they adore him.

Mr. Gower, taking no notice of her silent protest,