"She wrote that--did she?--wrote of marriage and her husband's last attack of hemorrhage in the same paragraph, I suppose. Michael, it is revolting! My dear boy, you must break away from her--and then do try to occupy yourself with more important things than women. Believe me, they are all very well in their way and in their proper place--to be treated with the greatest courtesy and respect as wives and mothers--even loved, if you will, for a recreation--but as vital factors in a man's real life! My dear fellow, the idea is ridiculous--that life should be for his country and the development of his own soul----" Michael Arranstoun laughed. "Jolly old Mohammedan! You think women have none, I suppose!" Henry Fordyce frowned, because it was rather true--but he denied the charge. "Nothing of the sort. Merely, I see things at their proper balance and you cannot." Michael leaned back in his chair; he was quieter for a moment. "I only see what I want to see, Henry--and I am a savage--I cannot help it--we have always been so. When I fancy a woman, I must obtain her--when I want a horse, I must have it. It is always _must_--and we have not done so badly. We still possess our shoulders and chins and strength after eleven hundred years of it!" and he stretched out a splendid arm, with a force which could have felled an ox. An undoubtedly fine specimen of British manhood he looked, sitting there in the June sunlight, which came in a shaft from the south mullioned window in the corner beyond the great fireplace, the space between occupied by a large picture of uncertain date, depicting the landing of Mary, Queen of Scots, in her northern kingdom. His eyes roamed to this. "One of my ancestors was among that party," he said, pointing to a figure. "He had just killed a Moreton and stolen his wife, that is why he looks so perky--the fellow in the blue doublet." Mr. Fordyce rose from his chair and fired his last shot. "And now a female spider is going to paralyze the last Arranstoun, and rule him for the rest of his days, sapping his vitality." But Michael protested. "By heaven, no!" "Well, I'll leave you to think about it. I am going for another stroll on this lovely day." He had got to the window by this time, which looked into the courtyard on the opposite side to the balcony. "Goodness! what a party of tourists! It is a bore for you to have them all over the place like this! To own a castle with state rooms to be shown to the public has its disadvantages." Michael looked at them, too, a large party of Americans, mostly of that class which compose the tourists of all countries, and which no nation feels proud to own. He had seen hundreds of such, and turned away indifferently. "They only come here twice a week, and it has been allowed for such ages--they are generally quiet, and fortunately their perambulations close at the end of the gallery. They don't intrude upon my own suite. They get to the chapel by the outside door."