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Updated: June 1, 2025
Meanwhile, Michael Arranstoun was tramping his park with giant strides, and suddenly came upon his friend and guest, Henry Fordyce, whose very presence in his house he had forgotten, so turbulent had his thoughts been ever since the early post came in. Henry Fordyce was a leisurely creature, and had come out for a stroll on the exquisite June day upon his own account.
The Père Anselme avoided answering this question by asking another. "You knew that the Seigneur of Arranstoun was wedded, it would seem. How was that?" Then Henry told him the outline of Michael's story, and the cruel irony of fate in having made him himself leave the house before seeing Sabine struck them both.
His suite at Arranstoun which he had never seen since the day after his wedding, having gone up to London that very next night, and from there made all his arrangements for the China trip gave him a shock he who had nerves of steel and into the chapel he loathed to go.
For the voice was the voice of Michael Arranstoun and when he pulled the goggles off, she could see, as she peered through the window, his sunburnt face and bold blue eyes. Ostende had begun to bore Michael Arranstoun intolerably he had lamed his best pony and Miss Daisy Van der Horn was getting on his nerves.
He wanted to slay something; he almost wished his friend had been an enemy that he could have gone out and fought with him and reseized his bride. What matter that she should be unwilling the Arranstoun brides had often been unwilling. She had been unwilling before, and he had crushed her resistance, and even made her eventually show him some acquiescence and content.
Arranstoun had left England for the wilds of China and Tibet, and might not get any letters for more than a year. She remembered how that night she had cried herself to sleep with misery, and with a growing regret at having left Michael, and a pitiful longing just to be clasped once more in his strong arms and comforted. Oh! the hateful wretched memories!
When Michael Arranstoun got Henry's wire asking him to dine, he laughed bitterly. There was something so cynically entertaining in the idea of the whole situation! He was being asked out to meet the wife whom he was madly in love with, and was preparing to divorce for desertion, so that she might marry the giver of the invitation!
But, as she stood looking from the narrow, deep casement up at the evening sky, suddenly, with terrible vividness, there came back to her mental vision the chapel at Arranstoun upon her wedding night, with its gorgeous splendors and the candles and the lilies and their strong scent, and it was as if she could feel Michael's kiss when the old clergyman's words were done.
She settled it straight, and began searching for a handkerchief up her sleeve and in her belt, but none was to be found. So Mr. Arranstoun handed her a clean one he chanced to have in his pocket. "I expect you want to wipe the smudge of dirt off your face," he hazarded. She took it laughing, and showing an even row of beautiful teeth between red, full baby lips.
It was past midnight when Michael reached Paris, and, going in to the Ritz, met Miss Daisy Van der Horn and a number of other friends just leaving after a merry dinner in a private room. They greeted him with fervor. Where had he been? And would not he dress quickly and come on to supper with them? "Why, you look as glum as an owl, Michael Arranstoun!" Miss Van der Horn herself informed him.
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