"I rather think so; I'm sure I wonder how you put up with him for so long," says Gower, contemptuously.
"Force of habit, I suppose. He was always in the way when he wasn't wanted. And—and—and the other thing," says Miss Blount, broadly, who wants to say 'vice versa,' but cannot remember it at this moment.
"Never knew when to hold his tongue," says Stephen, who is a rather silent man; "never met such a beggar to talk."
"And so headstrong," says Dulce, pettishly.
"Altogether, I think he is about the greatest ass I ever met in my life," says Mr. Gower, with touching conviction, and out of the innocence of his heart.
"Is he?" asks Dulce, with a sudden and most unexpected change of tone. A frown darkens the fair face. Is it that she is looking back with horror upon the time when she was engaged to this "ass," or is it—"You have met a good many, no doubt?"
"Well, a considerable few in my time," replies he. "But I must say I never saw a poorer specimen of his kind—and his name, too, such an insane thing. Reminds one of that romping old English dance and nothing else. Why on earth couldn't the fellow get a respectable name like any other fellow."
This is all so fearfully absurd, that at any other time, and under any other circumstances, it would have moved Dulce to laughter.
"Isn't the name, Roger, respectable?" asks she, sweetly, as though desirous of information.
"Oh, well, it's respectable enough, I suppose; or at least it is hideous enough for that or anything."