th the gloomiest doubts as he sees dish after dish
offered her, only to be rejected.

This strange fit of silence, however, is plainly not to be put down to
ill temper. She is kindly, nay, even affectionate, in her manner to all
around, except, indeed, to Roger, whom she openly avoids, and whose
repeated attempts at conversation she returns with her eyes on the
table-cloth, and a general air about her of saying anything she _does_
say to him under protest.

To Roger this changed demeanor is maddening; from it he instantly draws
the very blackest conclusions; and, in fact, so impressed is he by it
that later on, in the drawing-room, when he finds his tenderest glances
and softest advances still met with coldness and resistance, and when
his solitary effort at explanation is nervously, but remorselessly,
repulsed, he caves in altogether, and, quitting the drawing-room, makes
his way to the deserted library, where, with a view to effacing himself
for the remainder of the evening, he flings himself into an arm-chair,
and gives himself up a prey to evil forebodings.

Thus a quarter of an hour goes by, when the door of the library is
opened by Dulce. Roger, sitting with his back to it, does not see her
enter, or, indeed, heed her entrance, so wrapt is he in his unhappy
musings. Not until she has lightly and timidly touched his shoulder does
he start, and, looking round, become aware of her presence.

"It is I," she says, in a very sweet little voice, that brings Roger to
his feet and the end of his musings in no time.

"Dulce! What has happened?" he asks, anxiously, alluding to her late
strange behavior. "Why won't you speak to me?"

"I don't know," says Dulce, faintly, hanging her head.

"What can I have done? Ever since you went away with Stephen, down to
the Beeches to-day, your manner toward me has been utterly changed.
Don't--_don't_ say you have been persuaded by him to name your wedding
day!" He speaks excitedly, as one might who is at last giving words to a
fear that has been haunting him for long.

"So far from it," says Miss Blount, with slow solemnity, "that he sought
an opportunity to-day to formally release me from my promise to him!"

"He has released you?" Words are too poor to express Roger's profound
astonishment.

"Yes; on one condition."

"A condition! What a Jew! Yes; well, go on--?"

"I _can't_ go on," says Dulce, growing crimson. "I can't, _indeed_,"
putting up her hands as she sees him abo