"Nothing can take you from me, Henry--unless something goes wrong about the divorce. My lawyer arrives in England to-day from America on purpose to consult me and see what can be done to hasten matters.

My--husband--has not as yet started the proceedings it seems."

Lord Fordyce's face paled.

"Does that mean anything sinister, dearest?" he demanded, with a quiver in his cultivated voice. "Sabine, you would tell me, would you not, if there were anything to fear?"

"I do not myself know what it means--I may have some news to-morrow--let us forget about it to-night. Oh! I want to be happy just for to-night, Henry!" and she held out her hand again pleadingly.

"Indeed, you shall be, darling," and splendid and unselfish gentleman that he was, he crushed down his anguish, and used all his clever brain to divert and entertain her, and presently all the women went up to dress for dinner and the ball, and Lord Fordyce found Michael in the smoking-room. He had really a deep affection for him; he had known him ever since he was an absolutely fearless, dare-devil little boy, the joy and pride of his father, Henry's old friend, and in spite of the full ten years' difference in their ages, they had ever been closest allies until their break at Arranstoun, and then Michael's five years abroad had made a gap, bridged over now since his return. Lord Fordyce felt that Michael's intense vitality and radiating magnetism would be refreshing in the depressed state into which his lady love's words had thrown him, and he drew him over with him, and they sat down in two big chairs apart from the rest of the festive groups--some playing bridge or billiards. Michael was in no gentle temper, and Henry was the last person he wished to talk to. He knew he ought not to have come, he knew that he ought to tell Henry straight out and then go off before the ball. He felt he was behaving like the most despicable coward; and yet, if it were possible for Henry never to know that he, Michael, was Sabine's husband, it would save his friend much pain. He was smarting under Sabine's insolent dismissal of him, and burning with jealousy over that witnessed caress, the violent pa.s.sions of his race were surging up and causing a devil of recklessness to show in his very 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 sc.r.a.pe?" 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 both of us not to talk about it.

Only if there seems to be some hitch I will get her to tell me, so that I may be able to help her. I have a fairly clear judgment generally--and may see some points she and Mr. Parsons have neglected."

Michael gazed into the fire--at this moment his worst enemy might have pitied him.

"Supposing anything were to go really wrong, Henry, it would cut you up awfully, eh?"

And if Lord Fordyce had not been so preoccupied with his own emotions, he would have seen an over-anxiety on the face of his friend.

"I believe it would just end my life, Michael," he answered, very low.

"I am not a boy, you know, to get over it and begin again."

Mr. Arranstoun bounded from his chair.

"Nothing must be allowed to go wrong, then, old man," he exclaimed almost fiercely. "Don't you fret. But, by Jove, we will be late for dinner!" and afraid to trust himself to say another word, he turned to one of the groups near and at last got from the room. He did not go up to his own, but on into the front hall, and so out into the night. A brisk wind was blowing, and the moon, a young, frosty moon was bright.

He knew the place well, and paced a stone terrace undisturbed. It was on the other side all was noise and bustle, where the large, built out ball-room stood.

An absolute decision must be come to. No more shilly-shallying--he had thrown the dice and lost and must pay the stakes. He would ask her to dance this night and then get speech with her alone--discuss what would be best to do to save Henry, and then on the morrow go and begin proceedings immediately.

Meanwhile, up in Moravia's room, Sabine was seated upon the white sheep's-skin rug before the fire; she was wildly excited and extremely unhappy.

The sight of Michael again had upset all her fancied indifference, and shaken her poise; and apart from this, the situation was grotesque and unseemly. She could no longer suffer it: she would tell Henry the whole truth to-morrow and ask him what she must do. His love almost terrified her. What awful responsibility lay in her hand? But civilization commanded her to dress in her best, and go down and dance gaily and play her part in the world.

"Oh! what slaves we are, Morri!" she exclaimed, as though speaking her thoughts aloud, for the remark had nothing to do with what the Princess had said.

Moravia, who was lying on the sofa not in the best of moods either, answered gloomily:

"Yes, slaves--or savages. The truth is, we are nearly all animals more or less. Some are caught by wiles, and some are trapped, and some revel in being captured--and a few--a few are like me--they get away as a bird with a shot in its wing."

Sabine was startled--what was agitating her friend?

"But your troubles are over, Morri, darling--your wings are strong and free!"

"I said there was a shot in one of them."

Sabine came and sat upon a stool beside her, and took and caressed her hand.

"Something has hurt you, dearest," she cooed, rubbing Moravia's arm with her velvet cheek. "What is it?"

"No, I am not hurt--I am only cynical. I despise our s.e.x--most of us are just primitive savages underneath at one time of our lives or another--we adore the strong man who captures us in spite of all our struggles!"

"Morri!"

"It is perfectly true! we all pa.s.s through it. In the beginning, when Girolamo devoured me with kisses and raged with jealousy, and one day almost beat me, I absolutely worshipped him; it was when he became polite--and then yawned that my misery began. You will go through it, Sabine, if you have not already done so. It seems we suffer all the time, because when that is over then we learn to appreciate gentleness and chivalry--and probably by then it is out of our reach."

"I don't believe anything is out of our reach if we want it enough," and Sabine closed her firm mouth.

"Then I wonder what you want, Sabine--because I know you do not really want Lord Fordyce--he represents chivalry--and I don't believe you are at that stage yet, dearest."

"What stage am I at, then, Morri?"

"The one when you want a master--you have mastered everything yourself up to now--but the moment will come to you--and then you will be fortunate, perhaps, if fate keeps the man away!"

Sabine's violet eyes grew black as night--and her little nostrils quivered.