"I expect some fellows do all the repentance," says Stephen, moodily. Then, with a sudden accession of animation born of despair, he says, "Dulce, once for all, tell me if you can care for me even a little." He has taken her hand—of course her right hand on which a ring is—and is clasping it in the most energetic manner. The ring has a sharp diamond in it, and consequently the pressure creates pain. She bears it, however, like a Cranmer.
"I don't think even my angelic temper would stand a cross-examination on such a day as this," she says, with a slight frown; it might be slighter but for the diamond. "Besides, I have made answer to that question a thousand times. Did I not, indeed, answer it in the most satisfactory manner of all when I promised to marry you?"
"Yes, you promised to marry me, I know that, but when?" asks he, quickly. "Up to this you have always declined to name any particular date."
"Naturally," says Miss Blount, calmly. "I'm not even dreaming of being married yet, why should I? I should hate it."
"Oh! if you would hate it," says Stephen, stiffly.
"Yes, hate it," repeats she, undauntedly. "Why, indeed, should we be married for years? I am quite happy, aren't you?"
No answer. Then, very severely, "Aren't you?"
"Yes, of course," says Mr. Gower, but in a tone that belies his words.
"Just so," says Dulce, "then let us continue happy. I am sure all these past months I have been utterly content."
"You mean ever since Roger's departure?" asks he, eagerly.