The Man and the Moment

Chapter 15

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For a day or two, Michael Arranstoun could not make up his mind, when he

heard of the Ebbsworth ball, as to whether or no he ought to go to it.

He had several conversations with Binko upon the subject, and finally

came to the conclusion that he would go. He had grown so desperately

unhappy by this time, that he cared no more whether it were right or

wrong--he must see Sabine. He had not believed that it could be possible

for him to suffer to such a degree about a woman. He _must_ satisfy

himself absolutely as to the fact of her loving Henry.

Rose Forster had written, of course, to ask him to stay in the house for

it--holding out the bait that she had two absolutely charming Americans

coming. So Michael fell--and accepted, not without excusing himself to

Binko as he finished writing out his wire:

Thousand thanks. I will come.

"I am a coward, Binko--I ought to have the pluck to go off to Timbuctoo

and let Henry have a fair field--but I haven't and must be certain

first."

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

Hronac. 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.

"It would mean nothing for me to have it on the left one--while that bar

of gold is there," she had told him. "I will only take it if you let me

have it as a gage of friendship," and as ever he agreed. He was so

passionately in love with her, there was nothing in the world he would

not have done or left undone to please her. His eye followed her always

with rapture, and her slightest wish was instantly obeyed. Sabine was

naturally an autocrat, and, but for the great generosity of her spirit,

might have made him suffer considerably, but she did not, being

consistently gentle and sweet.

"My darling!" Henry repeated, in the little anteroom, while his fond

eyes devoured her face. "Sometimes I love you so it frightens me--My

God, if anything were to take you from me now, I do not think I could

bear it."

Sabine shivered as she bent down to look at a case of Cosways in a show

table.

"Nothing can take you from me, Henry--unless something goes wrong about

the divorce. My lawyer arrives in England to-day from America on purpose

to consult me and see what can be done to hasten matters.

My--husband--has not as yet started the proceedings it seems."

Lord Fordyce's face paled.

"Does that mean anything sinister, dearest?" he demanded, with a quiver

in his cultivated voice. "Sabine, you would tell me, would you not, if

there were anything to fear?"

"I do not myself know what it means--I may have some news to-morrow--let

us forget about it to-night. Oh! I want to be happy just for to-night,

Henry!" and she held out her hand again pleadingly.

"Indeed, you shall be, darling," and splendid and unselfish gentleman

that he was, he crushed down his anguish, and used all his clever brain

to divert and entertain her, and presently all the women went up to

dress for dinner and the ball, and Lord Fordyce found Michael in the

smoking-room. He had really a deep affection for him; he had known him

ever since he was an absolutely fearless, dare-devil little boy, the joy

and pride of his father, Henry's old friend, and in spite of the full

ten years' difference in their ages, they had ever been closest allies

until their break at Arranstoun, and then Michael's five years abroad

had made a gap, bridged over now since his return. Lord Fordyce felt

that Michael's intense vitality and radiating magnetism would be

refreshing in the depressed state into which his lady love's words had

thrown him, and he drew him over with him, and they sat down in two big

chairs apart from the rest of the festive groups--some playing bridge or

billiards. Michael was in no gentle temper, and Henry was the last

person he wished to talk to. He knew he ought not to have come, he knew

that he ought to tell Henry straight out and then go off before the

ball. He felt he was behaving like the most despicable coward; and yet,

if it were possible for Henry never to know that he, Michael, was

Sabine's husband, it would save his friend much pain. He was smarting

under Sabine's insolent dismissal of him, and burning with jealousy over

that witnessed caress, the violent passions of his race were surging up

and causing a devil of recklessness to show in his very handsome face.

Lord Fordyce saw that something had disturbed him.

"What's up, Michael, old boy?" he asked. "I haven't seen you look so

like Black James since you got Violet Hatfield's letter and did not see

how you could get out of marrying her."

Black James was a famous Arranstoun of the Court of James IV of

Scotland, whose exploits had been the terror and admiration of the whole

country, and who was even yet a byword for recklessness and savagery.

Michael laughed.

"Poor old Violet!" he said. "She will soon be bringing out her

daughter. I saw her the other day in London; she cut me dead!"

"That was an escape!" and Henry lit a cigar. "However, as you know, a

year after weeping crocodile tears for poor Maurice, she married young

Layard of Balmayn. So all's well that ends well. She and Rose have never

spoken since the scene when Violet read in the _Scotsman_ that you had

got married!"

"Don't let's talk of it!" returned Mr. Arranstoun. "The whole thought of

marriage and matrimony makes me sick!"

"Are you in some fresh scrape?" Henry exclaimed.

Michael put his head down doggedly, while his eyes flashed and he bit

off the end of his cigar.

"Yes, the very devil of a hole--but this time no one can help me with

advice or even sympathy; I must get out of the tangle myself."

"I am awfully sorry, old man."

"It is my own fault, that is what hurts the most."

"I do not feel particularly brilliant to-night either," Henry announced.

"The divorce proceedings have not apparently been commenced in

America--and nothing definite can be settled. I do not understand it

quite. I always thought that out there the woman could always get

matters manipulated for her, and get rid of the man when she wanted.

They are so very chivalrous to women, American men, whatever may be

their other sins. This one must be an absolute swine."

"Yes--does Mrs. Howard feel it very much?" and Michael's deep voice

vibrated strangely.

"She spoke of it just now. Her lawyer arrives from New York to-day to

consult with her what is best next to be done."

"And she never told you a thing about the fellow, Henry? How very

strange of her, isn't it?"

Lord Fordyce's fine, gray eyes gleamed.

"Ah--Michael, if you had ever loved a woman, you would know that when

you really do, you desire to trust her to the uttermost. Sabine would

tell me and offered to at once if I wished, but--it all upsets her so--I

agree with her--it is much happier for both of us not to talk about it.

Only if there seems to be some hitch I will get her to tell me, so that

I may be able to help her. I have a fairly clear judgment generally--and

may see some points she and Mr. Parsons have neglected."

Michael gazed into the fire--at this moment his worst enemy might have

pitied him.

"Supposing anything were to go really wrong, Henry, it would cut you up

awfully, eh?"

And if Lord Fordyce had not been so preoccupied with his own emotions,

he would have seen an over-anxiety on the face of his friend.

"I believe it would just end my life, Michael," he answered, very low.

"I am not a boy, you know, to get over it and begin again."

Mr. Arranstoun bounded from his chair.

"Nothing must be allowed to go wrong, then, old man," he exclaimed

almost fiercely. "Don't you fret. But, by Jove, we will be late for

dinner!" and afraid to trust himself to say another word, he turned to

one of the groups near and at last got from the room. He did not go up

to his own, but on into the front hall, and so out into the night. A

brisk wind was blowing, and the moon, a young, frosty moon was bright.

He knew the place well, and paced a stone terrace undisturbed. It was on

the other side all was noise and bustle, where the large, built out

ball-room stood.

An absolute decision must be come to. No more shilly-shallying--he had

thrown the dice and lost and must pay the stakes. He would ask her to

dance this night and then get speech with her alone--discuss what would

be best to do to save Henry, and then on the morrow go and begin

proceedings immediately.

Meanwhile, up in Moravia's room, Sabine was seated upon the white

sheep's-skin rug before the fire; she was wildly excited and extremely

unhappy.

The sight of Michael again had upset all her fancied indifference, and

shaken her poise; and apart from this, the situation was grotesque and

unseemly. She could no longer suffer it: she would tell Henry the whole

truth to-morrow and ask him what she must do. His love almost terrified

her. What awful responsibility lay in her hand? But civilization

commanded her to dress in her best, and go down and dance gaily and play

her part in the world.

"Oh! what slaves we are, Morri!" she exclaimed, as though speaking her

thoughts aloud, for the remark had nothing to do with what the Princess

had said.

Moravia, who was lying on the sofa not in the best of moods either,

answered gloomily:

"Yes, slaves--or savages. The truth is, we are nearly all animals more

or less. Some are caught by wiles, and some are trapped, and some revel

in being captured--and a few--a few are like me--they get away as a bird

with a shot in its wing."

Sabine was startled--what was agitating her friend?

"But your troubles are over, Morri, darling--your wings are strong and

free!"

"I said there was a shot in one of them."

Sabine came and sat upon a stool beside her, and took and caressed her

hand.

"Something has hurt you, dearest," she cooed, rubbing Moravia's arm with

her velvet cheek. "What is it?"

"No, I am not hurt--I am only cynical. I despise our s*x--most of us are

just primitive savages underneath at one time of our lives or

another--we adore the strong man who captures us in spite of all our

struggles!"

"Morri!"

"It is perfectly true! we all pass through it. In the beginning, when

Girolamo devoured me with kisses and raged with jealousy, and one day

almost beat me, I absolutely worshipped him; it was when he became

polite--and then yawned that my misery began. You will go through it,

Sabine, if you have not already done so. It seems we suffer all the

time, because when that is over then we learn to appreciate gentleness

and chivalry--and probably by then it is out of our reach."

"I don't believe anything is out of our reach if we want it enough," and

Sabine closed her firm mouth.

"Then I wonder what you want, Sabine--because I know you do not really

want Lord Fordyce--he represents chivalry--and I don't believe you are

at that stage yet, dearest."

"What stage am I at, then, Morri?"

"The one when you want a master--you have mastered everything yourself

up to now--but the moment will come to you--and then you will be

fortunate, perhaps, if fate keeps the man away!"

Sabine's violet eyes grew black as night--and her little nostrils

quivered.

"I know nothing of passions, Moravia," she cried, and threw out her

arms. "I have only dreamed of them--imagined them. I am afraid of

them--afraid to feel too much. Henry will be a haven of rest--the

moment--can never come to me."

The Princess laughed a little bitterly.

"Then let us dress, darling, and go down and outshine all these dear,

dowdy Englishwomen; and while you are sipping courtesy and gentleness

with Lord Fordyce, I shall try to quaff gloriously attractive,

aboriginal force with Mr. Arranstoun--but it would have been more

suitable to our characters could we have changed partners. Now, run

along!"

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