CHAPTER XVI.
Rose Forster had felt she must not lure Mr.Arranstoun over to Ebbsworth on false pretences; he was a very much sought after young man, and since his return from the wilds had been very difficult to secure, and therefore it was her duty to give him one of her beautiful Americans at dinner.

The Princess was obviously the destiny of her husband with her brother Henry upon the other side, so Michael must take in Mrs.Howard.
Mr.Arranstoun was one of the last two guests to assemble in the great drawing-room where the party were collected, and did not hear of his good fortune until one minute before dinner was announced.
Sabine had perhaps never looked so well in her life.

She had not her father's nation's love of splendid jewels, and wore none of any kind.
Her French mother may have transmitted to her some wonderful strain of tastes which from earliest youth had seemed to guide her into selecting the most beautiful and becoming things without great knowledge.

Her ugly frocks at the Convent had been a penance, and ever since she had been free and rich her clothes and all her belongings had been marvels of distinction and simplicity.
Moravia was, strictly speaking, far more beautiful, but Sabine, as Henry had once said, had "it." Her manner was just what it ought to have been, as she placed her hand upon her husband's arm--perfectly indifferent and gracious, and so they went in to dinner.
Michael had hardly hoped to have this chance and meant to make the most of it.

At dinner before a ball was not the place to have a serious discussion about divorce, but was for lighter and more frivolous conversation, and he felt his partner would be no unskilled adversary with the foils.
"So you have got this far north, Mrs.Howard," he began by saying, making a slight pause over the name.