"Do you not think that I can, then?" he asked, tenderly. "It is the only thing I really want in life—to make you happy."
"How good you are, Henry!" she cried; "so noble and unselfish and true; you frighten me. I am just a creature of earth—full of things you may not like when you know me better. I am sure I think of myself more than any one else—you make me—ashamed."
He took her hand and kissed it, while his fine gray eyes melted in worship.
"I will not even listen when you say such things—for me you are perfect—a pearl of great price."
"I must try to be, but I am not," and her voice trembled a little. "I believe I am as full of faults and life as your friend there—Mr. Arranstoun, who I am sure is just a selfish, reckless man!"
Michael at this moment reached the boat-house with old Berthe's son, who began to help him to untie the one he wanted. He looked the most splendid creature there in his white flannels—and he turned and waved to them and then got in and pulled out a few yards with long, easy strokes.
"Michael is a character," his friend said. "He has been spoilt all his life by women—and fortune. He has a most strange story. He married a girl about five years ago just to make himself safe from another woman whom he had been making love to. I was awfully angry with him at the time—I was staying in the house and I refused to wait for the wedding. I thought it such a shame to the girl, although it was merely an empty ceremony—but she was awfully young, I believe."
"How interesting!" and Sabine's voice was strained. "You saw the girl—what was she like?"
"No, I never saw her—it was all settled one afternoon when I was out—and I thought it such a thundering shame that I left that same night."
"And if you had stayed—you would have met her—how curious fate is sometimes—isn't it? Perhaps you could have prevented your friend being so foolish—if you had stayed."