It would be such peace and relief when the divorce proceedings would come on and be finished with--a much less tiresome affair in Scotland, she had heard, than in an English court.
When Michael Arranstoun got Henry's wire asking him to dine, he laughed bitterly.

There was something so cynically entertaining in the idea of the whole situation! He was being asked out to meet the wife whom he was madly in love with, and was preparing to divorce for desertion, so that she might marry the giver of the invitation! He was tempted to accept for a second or two, the desire to see her again was growing almost more than he could bear; but at this period he had still strength to refuse--and then, as the days went on, it seemed that nothing gave him any pleasure, and that constantly and incessantly his thoughts turned to one subject.

If there had been no friendship or honor mixed up in the thing, nothing would have been simpler than to sit down and write to Henry telling him plainly that Sabine was his wife--and that she must choose between them.

But then he remembered that, apart from all friendship, Sabine had already plainly expressed her choice, and that he had absolutely no right to hold her in any way since he had given her permission all those years ago to make what she chose of her life.

He had not yet instructed his lawyers to begin actual proceedings--he was in a furnace of indecision and unrest.