"I can't do that, either," she says at last, without raising her afflicted lids.
"But why?" impatiently. "What is to prevent you?—unless, indeed," suspiciously, "you really don't care about it."
"It isn't that, indeed," says Dulce, earnestly, letting her eyes, suffused with tears, meet his for a moment.
"Then what is it? You say he has released you, and that you have therefore regained your liberty, and yet—yet—Dulce, do be rational and give me an explanation. At least, say why you will not be my wife."
"If I told that I should tell you the condition, too," says poor Dulce, in a stifled tone, feeling sorely put to it, "and nothing would induce me to do that. I told you before I wouldn't."
"You needn't," says Roger, softly. "I see it now. And anything more sneaking— So he has given you your liberty, but has taken good care you sha'n't be happy in it. I never heard of a lower transaction. I—"
"Oh! how did you find it out?" exclaims Dulce, blushing again generously.
"I don't know," replies he, most untruthfully, "I guessed it, I think; it was so like him. You—did you agree to his condition, Dulce?"
"Yes," says Dulce.
"You gave him your word?"