Of this frivolous remark Julia deigns to take no notice. And, indeed, they are all too accustomed to Mr. Browne's eccentricities of style to spend time trying to unravel them. "You haven't yet explained to me the important business that kept you at home all day," Dulce is saying to Mr. Gower. She is leaning slightly forward, and is looking down into his eyes. "Tenants and a steward, and such like abominations," he says, rather absently. Then, his glance wandering to her little white, slender fingers, that are idly trifling with her fan, "By-the-by," he goes on, "the steward--Mayne, you know--can write with both hands. Odd, isn't it? Just as well with his left as with his right." "A rather useless accomplishment, I should think." "I don't know. It occurred to me we should all learn how to do it, in case we should break our arms, or our legs, or anything." "What on earth would our legs have to do with it," says Miss Blount, with a gay little laugh, which he echoes. "Oh? well, in case we should sprain our right wrists, then. When Mayne went away I tried if _I_ could make use of my left hand, and succeeded rather well. Look here, you hold your hand like this." "It sounds difficult," says Dulce, doubtfully. "It isn't though, really. Will you try?" Taking a pencil and an envelope from his pocket, he lays the latter on her knee, and hands her the former. "Now let me hold your hand just at first to guide you, and you will soon see how simple it is. Only practice is required." "It will take a good deal of practice and a good deal of guidance, I shouldn't wonder," says Miss Blount, smiling. "That will be my gain," returns he in a low tone. As he speaks he lays his hand on hers, and directs the pencil; so the lesson begins; and so it continues uninterrupted for several minutes; Dulce is getting on quite smoothly; Mr. Gower is plainly interested in a very high degree, when Roger, coming up to them, lays his hand lightly upon Dulce's shoulder. He is still passionately angry, and almost unable to control himself. To see Dulce's fingers clasped by those of Gower, however innocently, has fired his wrath, and driven him to open expression of his displeasure. "If you have forgotten how to write, Dulce," he says in a low, strained voice, "I daresay it will be possible to find a master to re-instruct you. In the meantime, why trouble Gower?" "Does it trouble you, Mr. Gower?" asks she, sweetly, looking straight at Stephen and ignoring Roger. "Need I answer that?" responds he, flushing warmly, and in his turn ignoring Dare. "Then you need not worry yourself to get me a master, Roger," says Dulce, still quite sweetly. "It is very good of you to wish to take such trouble about me, but you see I have got one already."