CHAPTER III
W ell, old boy!" Mr. Fordyce greeted him with. "You should have been with me and had a good round of golf—but perhaps, though, you have made up your mind!"
Michael flung himself into his great chair.
"Yes—I have—and I have got a fiancée."
Mr. Fordyce was not disturbed; he did not even answer this absurd remark, he just puffed his cigar—cigarettes were beneath his notice.
"You don't seem very interested," his host ejaculated, rather aggrievedly.
"Tommyrot!"
"I tell you, it is true. I have got a fiancée."
"My dear fellow, you are mad!"