"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. "Yes; principally, I suppose _because_ of his departure." There is a good deal of unnecessary warmth in this speech. Yet the flush has faded from her cheeks now, and she is looking down toward the sea with a little set expression round her usually mobile lips. "We are happy now, but why should we not be even happier if we were married?" asks Stephen, presently, trying to read her averted face. "Why? Who can answer that?" exclaims she, turning her face inland again, with a little saucy smile. Her thoughts of a moment since are determinately put out of sight, resolutely banished. "You surely don't believe at this time of day that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush? That is old-world rubbish! Take my word for it, that _two_ birds in the hand do not come up to even one sweet, provoking, unattainable bird in the bush!" She has risen, and is now standing before him, as she says this, with her hands clasping each other behind her head, and her body well thrown back. Perhaps she does not know how charming her figure appears in this position. Perhaps she does. She is smiling down at Gower in a half defiant, wholly tantalizing fashion, and is as like the "sweet, provoking, unattainable bird" as ever she can be. Rising slowly to his feet, Gower goes up to her, and, as is his lawful right, encircles her bonnie round waist with his arm.