"I think it is time this most mistaken engagement of ours should come to an end," she says, quite quietly. "That is as you wish, of course," replies he. "But fully understand me; if you break with me now, it shall be at once and forever." "Your manner is almost a threat," she says. "It will be difficult to you, no doubt, but _please_ do try to believe it will be a very great joy to me to part from you 'at once and forever.'" "Then nothing more remains to be said; only this: it will be better for you that Uncle Christopher should be told I was the one to end this engagement, not--" "Why?" impatiently. "On account of the will, of course. If you will say I have refused to marry you, the property will go to you." "That you have _refused_ me!" says Miss Blount, with extreme indignation. "Certainly, I shall never say that--never! You can say with truth I have refused to marry you, but nothing else." "It is utter insanity," says Roger, gravely. "For the sake of a ridiculous whim, you are voluntarily resigning a great deal of money." "I would resign the mines of Golconda rather than do that. I would far rather starve than give you the satisfaction of saying you had given me up!" As she has a very considerable fortune of her own that nothing can interfere with, she finds it naturally the very simplest thing in the world to talk lightly about starvation. "What should I say that for?" asks Roger, rather haughtily. "How can I tell? I only know you are longing to say it," returns she, wilfully. "You are too silly to argue with," protests he, turning away with a shrug. Running down the steps of the balcony, Dulce, with her wrath still burning hotly within her, goes along the garden path and so past the small bridge, and the river, and the mighty beeches that are swaying to and fro. Turning a corner she comes suddenly upon Gower, who is still smoking cigarettes, and no doubt day-dreaming about her. "You have escaped from everybody," he says to her, in some surprise, Dulce being a person very little given to solitude or her own society undiluted. "It appears I have not," returns she, bitterly. "Well, I shan't trouble you long; I can take myself off in no time," he says, good-humoredly, drawing to one side to let her pass. "No--no; you can stay with me if you care to," she says, wearily, ashamed of her petulance. "_Care!_" he says, reproachfully; and then, coming nearer to her, "you are unhappy! Something has happened!" he says, quickly, "what is it?" "Nothing unhappy," says Dulce, in a dear, soft voice; "certainly not that. Something very different; something, indeed, I have been longing and hoping for, for weeks, for months, nay, all my life, I think." "And--" says Stephen. "I have broken off my engagement with Roger." A great, happy gleam awakes within his dark eyes. Instinctively he takes a step nearer to her, then checks himself, and draws his breath quickly.