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 sex—­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 pass 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!”