He felt he might be gaining his end.
Michael covered his face with his hands.
"It seems so ghastly to think of marriage with the poor chap not yet dead--I am fairly knocked over--it really is the last straw--but she will cry and make a scene--and she has certainly arguments--and it will make one feel such a cad to leave her." "She wrote that--did she ?--wrote of marriage and her husband's last attack of hemorrhage in the same paragraph, I suppose.

Michael, it is revolting! My dear boy, you must break away from her--and then do try to occupy yourself with more important things than women.

Believe me, they are all very well in their way and in their proper place--to be treated with the greatest courtesy and respect as wives and mothers--even loved, if you will, for a recreation--but as vital factors in a man's real life! My dear fellow, the idea is ridiculous--that life should be for his country and the development of his own soul----" Michael Arranstoun laughed.
"Jolly old Mohammedan! You think women have none, I suppose!" Henry Fordyce frowned, because it was rather true--but he denied the charge.
"Nothing of the sort.

Merely, I see things at their proper balance and you cannot." Michael leaned back in his chair; he was quieter for a moment.
"I only see what I want to see, Henry--and I am a savage--I cannot help it--we have always been so.

When I fancy a woman, I must obtain her--when I want a horse, I must have it.