Almost as he speaks, some one steps from the lighted room beyond on the balcony and approaches them. It is Roger.
"This is ours, I think," he says, addressing Dulce, and alluding to the waltz just commencing.
"Is it—what a pity; I had quite forgotten," she says, wilfully. "I am afraid I have half promised it to Mr. Gower, and you know he dances charmingly."
The emphasis not to be mistaken. The remark, of course, is meant alone for Roger, and he alone hears it. Gower has gone away from them a yard or two and is buried in thought. As Roger dances divinely her remark is most uncalled for and vexes him more than he would care to confess.
"Don't let me interfere with you and your new friend," he says, lifting his brows. "If you want to dance all night with Gower, by all means do it; there is really no earthly reason why you shouldn't."
Here, as his own name falls upon his ears, Gower turns and looks at Roger expectantly.
"I absolve you willingly from your engagement to me," goes on Roger, his eyes fixed upon his wilful cousin, his face cold and hard. The extreme calmness of his tone misleads her. Her lips tighten. A light born of passionate anger darkens her gray eyes.
"Do you?" she says, a peculiar meaning in her tone.
"From this engagement only," returns he, hastily.
"Thank you. Of your own free will, then, you resign me, and give me permission to dance with whom I will."