No one--not a single soul--neither Simone--Madame Imogen--nor Pere Anselme himself must be allowed to see that she recognized Michael--her belief that her countrywomen were fine actresses should stand her in good stead, and enable her to play this part of unconsciousness to perfection. _She would_ conquer herself--and she stamped her little foot there in the high turret bower in the garden where she had retired. Its windows opened straight out to the sea and she often had tea there. There would be no use in all her prayers for calm and poise if they should desert her now in this great crisis of her life. She was bound to Henry by her promised word, given of her own free will--and she meant to keep it, and do everything in her power to make herself free. She was an extremely honest person, honest even with herself, and she realized that either her own weakness or indecision, or some other motive had forced her to give a definite answer to Lord Fordyce--and that he was too fine a character to be played with and tossed about because of her moods. She had mastered every sign of emotion by the time Madame Imogen's comfortable figure, accompanied by the two men, could be seen advancing in the distance. She rose with the gracious smile of a hostess and held out her hand--pleased surprise upon her face. "So you have come! but earlier than I thought," and she shook hands with Henry, and then turned to his friend without the slightest embarrassment, as Lord Fordyce spoke his name. "How do you do," she said politely. "You are both very welcome to Heronac." Michael had merely seen a pretty outline of a young woman until they had got quite close and she had raised her head and lifted the shadow of her big garden sun-bonnet--and then he stiffened suddenly and grew very pale. He was a little behind the other two, and they observed nothing, but Sabine saw the change of color in his healthy handsome face, and the look of surprise and incredulity and puzzle which grew in his blue eyes. "How do you do?" he murmured, and then pulled himself together and looked at her hard. But she stood his scrutiny with perfect unconcern--even meeting his eye with a blank, agreeable want of recognition; while she made some ordinary remark about their journey. Then pointing to her basket: "See--I was picking flowers for my sitting-room and I did not expect you for another hour--what a silent motor you must have that its noise did not penetrate here!" Henry was so overcome with joy to see her, and that she should be so gracious and sweet--he said all sorts of nice things and walked by her side as they came down from the turret summer-house. She looked the picture of a fresh June rose as she carried her basket full of August flowers--phloxes and penstemons and a great bunch of late sweet peas. And Michael felt almost that he was staggering a little as he followed with Madame Imogen, the shock had been so great.