might have gradually made her love me and kept her always for
my own!" his thoughts ran. "Well--we were both too young then--and now I
must take the consequences and at least not be a swine to poor old
Henry."

With superb irony, among his letters next morning which he had wired to
be forwarded to Heronac, there came one from his lawyer, informing him
that he had received a guarded communication from his wife's
representative, Mr. Parsons--with what practically amounted to a request
that he, Mr. Arranstoun, should begin to set the law in motion, to break
the bond between them--and his lawyer inquired what his wishes were upon
the subject and what should be the nature of their reply?

To get this at Heronac--Sabine's house! He shook with fierce laughter in
his bed.

Then his temper got up, and he came to a fresh determination. He would
break her pride--she should kneel if she wanted her freedom, she should
have it only if she asked him for it herself. He would not leave that
day after all! He would stay and play the comedy to its end. While she
would not recognize him, he would not recognize her. It was she who had
set the pace and the responsibility of not informing Henry lay at her
door. It was a damnably exciting game--far beyond polo or even slaying
long-haired tigers in Manchuria--and he would play it and bluff without
a card in his hand.

He was not a noble hero, you see, but just a strong and passionate young
man--with "it"!

The day was so gorgeous--Sabine woke with some kind of joyousness. She
was only twenty-two years old and supremely healthy; and however
complicated fate seemed to be, when nerves and appetite are perfect and
the sun is shining, it is really impossible to feel too gloomy.

Her periwinkle cambric was a reflection of her eyes, and her brown hair
seemed filled with rays of gold as she stepped across the courtyard at
about ten o'clock on her way to the garden. Her guests would sleep
late--and at breakfast at twelve would be time enough to see them.

But Michael caught sight of the top of a wide straw hat, and the flutter
of a bluish gown from his window, and did not hesitate for a second.
Henry, he knew, was only in his bath, while he himself was fully
dressed in immaculate white flannels.

It did not take him five minutes to gain the courtyard, or to saunter
over the causeway bridge, and into the garden--he had brought the
English papers with him, which had been among his post. He would