Sabine for her part felt she could bear the situation no longer; she must be alone—so on the plea of letters to write, she dismissed them with Madame Imogen to show them to their rooms in the other part of the house which was connected to this, her two great turrets and middle immense room, by a passage which went along from the turret which contained her bedroom.
"You won't mind, perhaps, dining at half past seven?" she said as she paused at her door, "because our good Curé, Père Anselme is coming, and he hates to sit up late."
And with the corner of his eye, Michael saw that before he hurried after him, Henry had bent and surreptitiously kissed his hostess' hand—and a sudden blinding, unreasoning rage shook him as he stalked on to his allotted apartment.
CHAPTER X
S abine decided to be a little late for dinner—three minutes, just to give the rest of the party time to be assembled in the big salon. She was coming from the communicating passage to her part of the house when Mr. Arranstoun came out of his room, and they were obliged to go down the great staircase together.
To see him suddenly in evening dress like this brought her wedding night back so vividly to her, she with difficulty kept a gasp from her breath. He was certainly the most splendidly good-looking creature, with his blue eyes and dark hair and much fairer little moustache.
"I am late!" she cried laughing, before he could speak a word. "Père Anselme will scold me! Come along!" and she tripped forward with a glance over her shoulder.
Michael's eyes blazed—she was a truly bewitching morsel in her fresh white frock with its bunch of crimson sweet peas stuck in the belt.