Sabine 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.

"Pere 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.
"Your flowers should be stephanotis," he said, and that was all, as he followed her down the stairs.
"I cannot bear them," she retorted and shuddered a little.

"I only care for out-door, simple things like my sweet peas." He did not speak as they went along the gallery--this disconcerted her--what did it mean?
She had been prepared to fence with him, and keep him in his place, she was ready to defend herself on all sides--and no defence seemed necessary! A sudden cold feeling came over her as though excitement had died down and she opened the salon door quickly and advanced into the room.
Michael had come to a determination while dressing--Henry had walked in and smoked a cigarette with him before he began, and had then showed plainly his joy and satisfaction.

She--his worshiped lady--had never before been so tender and gracious, and he was awfully happy because things were going well.