She pauses and lays her hand upon her heart.
"And he?" asks Gower, unwisely.
She laughs ironically.
"You have seen him," she says. "Not only that, but you have surely seen us together often enough to be able to answer your question for yourself. A very rude question, by-the-by."
"I beg your pardon," says Gower, heartily ashamed of himself.
"Oh, it doesn't matter," says Dulce, throwing out one hand in a quick, nervous fashion. "Nothing matters much, does it? And now that we are on it, I will answer your question. I believe if I were the only woman in the world, Roger would never have even liked me! He seemed glad, thankful, when I gave him a release; almost," steadily, "as glad as I was to give it!"
"Were you glad!" asks Gower, eagerly. Going up to her, he takes her hand and holds it with unconscious force in both his own.
"Am I to think that you doubt me?" she says with a frown.
"Shall I ever have occasion to doubt you?" says Gower, with sudden passion. "Dulce! now that you are free, will you listen to me? I have only one thought in the world, and that is you, always you! Have I any chance with you? My darling, my own, be kind to me and try to take me to your heart."
The tears well into her eyes. She does not turn from him, but there is no joy in her face at this honest outburst, only trouble and perplexity, and a memory that stings. There is, too, some very keen gratitude.