“No, nothing in the world would ever prevent Michael from doing what he wanted to—­it is in the blood of all those old border families—­heredity again—­they flourished by imposing their wills recklessly and snatching and fighting, and who ever survived was a strong man.  It has come down to them in force and vigor and daring unto this day.”

“But what happened about the marriage?” Sabine asked.  “It interests me so much; it sounds so romantic at this matter-of-fact time.”

“Nothing happened, except that they went through the ceremony and the girl left at once that same night, I believe, and Michael has never seen or heard of her since—­he tells me the time is up now when he can divorce her for desertion, according to Scotch law—­and I fancy he will.  It is a ridiculous position for them both.  He does not even know if she has not preferred some one else by now.”

“Surely she would have given some sign if she had—­but perhaps he does not care.”

“Not much.  I fancy he amused himself a good deal at Ostende—­” and Henry smiled.  “He has been away in the wilds for five years and naturally has come back full of zest for civilization.”

Sabine’s full lips curled, and she looked at the sea again, and the figure in the boat rapidly pulling away from the shore.

“If he chose to leave her alone all these years, he could not expect anything else, could he, than that she would have grown to care for another man.”

“No, that is what I told him—­and he said he was a dog in the manger.”

“He did not want her himself, and yet did not wish to give her to any one else—­how disgustingly selfish!”

“Men are proverbially selfish,” and Henry smiled again; “it is the nature of the creatures.”

The violet eyes were glowing as stars might glow could they be angry—­and their owner turned away from the sea with a fine shrug of her shoulders—­her thoughts were raging.  So that is how Michael looked upon the affaire!  He was just the dog in the manger, and she was the hay!  But never, never would she submit to that!  She would speak to him when he came in and ask him to divorce her at once.  Why should Henry ever know?—­even if Scotch divorces were reported she would appear, 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”!