They were all at tea in the library at Ebbsworth when he arrived, having motored over from Arranstoun after lunch.
Everyone was enchanted to see him, and greeted him with delight. He knew almost the whole twenty of them, most of whom were old friends.
The hostess took him over to the tea table, and sitting near it in a ravishing tea-gown was Moravia. Rose Forster introduced him casually, while she poured him out some tea.
The library was a big room with one or two tall screens, and from behind the furthest one there came a low, rippling laugh. The sound of it maddened Michael, and his bold blue eyes blazed as he began to talk to the Princess. His naturally easy manners made him able to carry on some kind of a conversation, but his whole attention was fixed upon the whereabouts of Sabine. She was with Henry, of course, behind that Spanish leather screen. He hardly even noticed that Moravia was a very pretty woman, most wonderfully dressed; but he felt she was a powerful unit in his game of getting Sabine to Arranstoun, and so he endeavored to make himself agreeable to her.
Presently, in the general move, Lord Fordyce and his lady love emerged with two other people they had been talking to, and Henry came up to Michael with outstretched hand.
He was awfully glad to see him, he said. Then this estranged husband and wife were face to face.
It was a wonderful moment for both of them, and with all the schooling that each one had been through, it was extremely difficult to behave naturally. Michael did not fight with himself, except to keep from all outward expression; he knew he was simply overcome with emotion; but Sabine continued to throw dust in her own eyes. The sudden wild beating of her heart she put down to every other reason but the true one. It was most wrong of Michael to have come to this party; but it was, of course, done out of bravado to show her that she did not matter to him at all—so with supreme sangfroid she greeted him casually, and then turned eyes of tenderness to Henry.
"You were going to show me the miniatures in the next room, Lord Fordyce—were you not?" she said, sweetly, and took a step on toward the door, leaving Michael with pain and rage for company.
She had never allowed Henry to kiss her since that one occasion at Héronac. It was not as it should be, she affirmed—until she were free and really engaged to him, she prayed him to behave always only as a friend. Lord Fordyce acquiesced, as he would have done to any penance she chose to impose upon him, and in his secret thoughts rather respected her for her decision; he was then more than delighted when she put her slender hand upon his arm with possessive familiarity as soon as they had reached the anteroom where the collection of miniatures were kept; but he did not know that she was aware that Michael stood where he could see them through the archway.
"My darling!" and he lifted the white fingers to his lips. Sabine had particularly beautiful hands, and they were his delight. She never wore any rings—only her wedding-ring and the one great pearl Henry had persuaded her to let him give her, but this was on her right hand.