“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 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.