“And her game, too,” his host reminded him.  His eyes were flashing now, and that expression, which all his underlings knew meant he intended to have his own will at any cost, grew upon his face.

“You forget that in Scotland divorce is not an impossibility and—­I am going to do it, Henry.  Now, I had better write to old Fergusson, my chaplain, and tell him to be in readiness, and I suppose I ought to see my lawyers in Edinburgh, although, as there are no settlements and it is just between ourselves, perhaps it does not matter about them.”

“How old is the girl?” Mr. Fordyce felt it prudent to ask.  “It is a pretty serious thing you contemplate, you know.”

“Oh! rot!—­she is seventeen, I believe—­and for that sort of a marriage and mere business arrangement, her age is no consequence.”

Henry turned to the window and looked out for a moment, then he said gravely: 

“Is it quite fair to her?”

Michael had gone to his writing-table, and was busily scribbling to his chaplain, but he looked over his shoulder startled, and then a gleam of blue fire came into his eyes, and his handsome mouth shut like a vise.

“Of course, it is quite fair.  She wishes to be free as much as I do.  She gets what she wants and I get what I want—­a mere ceremony can be annulled at any time.  She jumped at the idea, I tell you, Henry—­I have not got time to go into the pros and cons of that side of the question, and I don’t want to hear your views or any one else’s on the matter.  I mean to marry the girl on Thursday night—­and you can quite well put off going South until Friday morning, and see me through it.”

Mr. Fordyce prepared to go towards the door, and when there said, in a voice of ice: 

“I shall do no such thing.  I cannot prevent your doing this, I suppose—­taking advantage of a young girl for your own ends, it seems to me—­so I shall go now.”

Michael’s temper began to blaze with this, his oldest friend.

“As you please,” he flashed.  “But it is perfect rot, all this high palaver.  The girl gains by it as well as I. I am not taking the least advantage of her.  I shall have to get her guardian’s consent, and I suppose he’ll know what he is up to.  I have never taken any one’s advice, and I am not going to begin now, old boy—­so we had better say good-bye if you won’t stop.”

He came over to the door, and then he smiled his radiant, irresistible smile so like a mischievous jolly boy’s.

“Give me joy, Henry, old friend,” he said, and held out his hand.

But Henry Fordyce looked grave as a judge as he took it.

“I can’t do that, Michael.  I am very angry with you.  I have known you ever since you were born, and we have been real pals, although I am so much older than you—­but I’m damned if I’ll stay and see you through this folly.  Good-bye.”  And without a word further he went out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.