"He is nothing of the sort," says Roger, indignantly. "He is about the best fellow I know. He would be ashamed to go round (like those idiots you speak of) with flowers and flowing locks. He leaves all that sort of thing"--contemptuously--"to girls." "Who is talking of Stephen Gower?" asks Sir Mark, coming towards them over the path of moonlight that lies upon the smooth lawn. "Happy man to be discussed by so fair a trio, 'beneath the sweet-smelling starlight,' as James has it." "Bless me," says Dicky, "I had no idea dry monopole would have had such an effect on Gore. He is talking poetry, I think; I never could understand it myself. Now for example, about those stars--_do_ they smell? _I_ never noticed it. What's it like, Gore?" Everyone disdains to take notice of this sally--all, that is, except Dulce, who is always only too delighted to laugh whenever the barest chance of being able to do so presents itself. Roger, crossing over to where she sits, leans his arms on the back of her chair, and bends his face to hers. "Look here," he says, in the conciliatory tone of one who is going to make a request and is not quite sure it will be granted. "If Gower comes down by-and-by, I wish you would promise me to be good to him. He is a very old chum of mine, and a very good fellow, and--be civil to him, will you?" "What do you suppose I am going to do to him?" asks Miss Blount, opening her eyes. "Was I bad to him at luncheon? Are you afraid I shall bite him? I shan't. You may be happy about that." "Of course--I know; but I want you to be _particularly_ nice to him," goes on Roger, though faintly discouraged by her tone. (Now what did he mean by saying she _wouldn't_ bite him. It sounds as if she would bite me!) "He is the oldest friend I have; and--er--as we are to be married some time or other, I want him to like you very much." "Who are to be married? You and Mr. Gower? It sounded like it," says Dulce, wilfully. "I was thinking of you and myself," he says, a little gravely. "Well, what is it you want me to do?" asks she, moving restlessly in her seat. She is, in spite of herself, disturbed by his gravity. "Am I to make love to him, or am I to let him make love to me? Your devotion to this old friend is quite touching." "He would be very unlikely indeed to make love to you," replies Roger, rather stiffly. "He understands perfectly how matters are between you and me." "Oh, no doubt," says Miss Blount, disgustedly. "Everyone seems to know all about this _absurd_ engagement. I can't think how I was ever brought to consent to it." "_Absurd!_" says Mr. Dare, in an impossible tone. "Yes, _painfully_ absurd! Quite too ridiculous," with unpleasant force. "Oh!" says Mr. Dare. "Yes," says Dulce, still defiant, though a little ashamed of herself, "it is quite enough to make people _hate_ people, all this perpetual gossip." "You are at least honest," he says, bitterly. Silence.