After this outburst she makes for the door, and the morning-room knows her no more for a considerable time. Portia looks up from her painting in some surprise, and Julia tries to smother the thought that the final expression of hatred should have ended in the word "_you_." In the hall outside, Dulce almost runs into Stephen's arms, who has come up to see her very early, being in a restless and most unsatisfactory mood. His eyes brighten and he flushes warmly as he meets her, but she, drawing back from him, gives him to understand by the very faintest of imperative gestures that he is to come no nearer. "You!" she says, ungraciously. "Yes--you expected me?" This question suggests the possibility that he fears he is not altogether welcome. She waives it, and goes on as though she had not heard him. "Have you done what you promised?" she asks, coldly. "No, you mean--?" he hesitates. "You _must_ remember. You were to tell Roger next day; _this_ (though it hardly sounds right) is next day; _have_ you told him that I have promised to marry you some time?" There is not the faintest nervousness or girlish confusion in her tone. Stephen, watching her closely, feels a terrible despair that threatens to overwhelm him. If only one little blush would mantle her cheek, if for one second her beautiful, feverishly bright eyes would droop before his! He battles with the growing misery, and for the time being, allays it. "Not yet;" he says. Then he colors hotly, and his eyes leaving her face seek the ground. A sense of shame betrays itself in every feature. "It is early yet," he says, in a strange reluctant tone; "and if--if you think it better to put it off for a day or two, or even to let him find out for himself by degrees--or--" "No!"--remorselessly--"he shall be told _now--at once_! Remember all you said about him last evening. _I_ have not forgotten. What!" cries she, with sudden passion, "do you think I will live another day believing he imagines me regretful of my decision--cut to the heart, perhaps, that I am no longer anything to him? I tell you no! The very thought is intolerable." "But--" "There must be no hesitation," she says, interrupting him with a quick gesture. "It was in our agreement that he should be told to-day. If one part of that agreement is to be broken, why then, let us break it all; it is not too late yet. _I_ shall not care, and perhaps it will be better if--" Her cruelty stings him into vehement declaration. "It will _not_ be better," he says, wrathfully. "I will do anything, everything, you wish, except"--bitterly--"give you up." To him it seems a wretched certainty that it _is_ her wish _already_ to break the bond formed between them but a few short hours ago. Has she so soon repented? "Where is Roger?" he asks, turning from her, all the lover's gladness gone from his eyes. He is looking stern and pale, and as a man might who is determined to do that against which his soul revolts.