Michael was nowhere in sight, but presently he came in with one of the house-party, and Mrs.
Forster beckoned them to her--and thus it happened that he was again at Sabine's side.

His eyes had a reckless, stony stare in them, and he confined his conversation to the lady he had taken in.

And Henry, who was watching him, whispered to Sabine: "He is often in some scrape, Michael--something must have culminated to-night.

I have never seen him looking so haggard and pale." Sabine drank down her glass of champagne; she thought she could no longer support the situation.

She almost felt she hated Henry and his devotion,--it was paralyzing her, suffocating her--crushing her life.
Michael never spoke to her--beyond a casual word--and at length they all went back to the ball-room, where an extra was being played--Michael, for a moment, standing by her side.