Michael's note to Henry was characteristic:
I'm bored, my dear Henry—the picture of your bliss is not inspiriting—so I am off to Paris and thence home. I hope you'll think I behaved all right and played the game.
Took your motor to catch train.
Yrs.,
M. A.
CHAPTER XII
T he Père Anselme was uneasy. Very little escaped his observation, and he saw at tea that his much loved Dame d'Héronac was not herself. She had not been herself the night before at dinner either—there was more in the coming of these two Englishmen than met the eye. He had seen her with Michael in the morning in the summer-house from a corner of the garden, too, where he was having a heated argument with the gardener in chief, as well as when he met them on the causeway bridge. He felt it his duty to do something to smooth matters, but what he could not decide. Perhaps she would tell him about it on the morrow, when he met her as was his custom on days that were not saints' days interfered with by mass.
"I shall be at the gate at nine o'clock, ma fille," he said, when he wished her good-day. "With your permission, we must decide about the clematis trellis for the north wall without delay."