ar, not as
Mrs. Howard, but as Mrs. Arranstoun,--then a discouraging thought
came--only Sabine was such an uncommon name--if it were not for that he
might never guess. But whether Henry ever knew or did not know, the
sooner she were free the better, and then she would marry him and adorn
his great position in the world--and Michael would see her there, and
how well she fulfilled her duties--so even yet she would be able to
punish him as he deserved! Hay! Indeed! Never, never, never!

Then she knew she must have been answering at random some of Lord
Fordyce's remarks, for a rather puzzled look was on his face.

A strong revulsion of feeling came to her. Henry suddenly appeared in
his best guise--and a wave of tenderness for him swept over her. How
kind and courteous and devoted he was--treating her always as his queen.
She could be sure of homage here--and that far from being hay; she would
be the most valued jewel in his crown of success. She would rise into
spheres where she would be above the paltry emotions caused by a hateful
man just because he had "it"!

So she gave her hand to Henry in a burst of exuberance and let him place
it in his arm, and then lead her back into the chateau and through all
the rooms, where they discussed blues and greens and stuffs and
furniture and the lowering of this doorway and the heightening of that,
and at last they drifted to the garden and to the lavender hedge--but
she would not take him into the summer-house or again look out on the
sea.

All through her sweetness there was a note of unrest--and Henry's fine
senses told him so--and this left the one drop of bitterness in his
otherwise blissful cup.

Michael meanwhile was expending his energy and his passion in swift
movement in the boat--but after a while he rested on his oars and then
he began to think.

There was no use in going on with the game after all--he ought to go
away at once. If he stayed and saw her any more he would not be able to
leave her at all. He knew he would only break his promise to Henry--tell
Sabine that he had fallen madly in love with her--implore her again to
forgive him for everything in the past and let them begin afresh. But he
was faced with the horrible thought of the anguish to Henry--Henry, his
old friend, who trusted him and who was ten times more worthy of this
dear woman than he was himself.

He had never been so full of impotency and misery in his life--not even
on that morning in June