y handsome face.
Lord Fordyce saw that something had disturbed him.

"What's up, Michael, old boy?" he asked. "I haven't seen you look so
like Black James since you got Violet Hatfield's letter and did not see
how you could get out of marrying her."

Black James was a famous Arranstoun of the Court of James IV of
Scotland, whose exploits had been the terror and admiration of the whole
country, and who was even yet a byword for recklessness and savagery.

Michael laughed.

"Poor old Violet!" he said. "She will soon be bringing out her
daughter. I saw her the other day in London; she cut me dead!"

"That was an escape!" and Henry lit a cigar. "However, as you know, a
year after weeping crocodile tears for poor Maurice, she married young
Layard of Balmayn. So all's well that ends well. She and Rose have never
spoken since the scene when Violet read in the _Scotsman_ that you had
got married!"

"Don't let's talk of it!" returned Mr. Arranstoun. "The whole thought of
marriage and matrimony makes me sick!"

"Are you in some fresh scrape?" Henry exclaimed.

Michael put his head down doggedly, while his eyes flashed and he bit
off the end of his cigar.

"Yes, the very devil of a hole--but this time no one can help me with
advice or even sympathy; I must get out of the tangle myself."

"I am awfully sorry, old man."

"It is my own fault, that is what hurts the most."

"I do not feel particularly brilliant to-night either," Henry announced.
"The divorce proceedings have not apparently been commenced in
America--and nothing definite can be settled. I do not understand it
quite. I always thought that out there the woman could always get
matters manipulated for her, and get rid of the man when she wanted.
They are so very chivalrous to women, American men, whatever may be
their other sins. This one must be an absolute swine."

"Yes--does Mrs. Howard feel it very much?" and Michael's deep voice
vibrated strangely.

"She spoke of it just now. Her lawyer arrives from New York to-day to
consult with her what is best next to be done."

"And she never told you a thing about the fellow, Henry? How very
strange of her, isn't it?"

Lord Fordyce's fine, gray eyes gleamed.

"Ah--Michael, if you had ever loved a woman, you would know that when
you really do, you desire to trust her to the uttermost. Sabine would
tell me and offered to at once if I wished, but--it all upsets her so--I
agree with her--it is much happier for