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."

Henry crossed the room and went on to the balcony.

"Mrs. Hatfield will alter all that," he laughed, as he disappeared from
view.

Michael flashed a rageful glance at his back, and then flung himself
into his great armchair again, and pulled the wrinkled mass, which
called itself a prize bulldog, on to his lap.