CHAPTER III


"Well, old boy!" Mr. Fordyce greeted him with. "You should have been
with me and had a good round of golf--but perhaps, though, you have made
up your mind!"

Michael flung himself into his great chair.

"Yes--I have--and I have got a fiancée."

Mr. Fordyce was not disturbed; he did not even answer this absurd
remark, he just puffed his cigar--cigarettes were beneath his notice.

"You don't seem very interested," his host ejaculated, rather
aggrievedly.

"Tommyrot!"

"I tell you, it is true. I have got a fiancée."

"My dear fellow, you are mad!"

"No, I assure you I am quite sane--I have found a way out of the
difficulty--an angel has dropped from the clouds to save me from Violet
Hatfield."

Henry Fordyce was actually startled. Michael looked as though he were
talking seriously.