"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."