"And the bride?" he asked.

Michael laughed. "Oh, she may go to the moon, for all I care; she leaves
directly after the ceremony with her certificate of marriage, which she
means to brandish in the face of her relations, who are staying at the
Inn, and so exit out of my life! It is only an affair of expediency."

"It is the affair of a madman."

Michael frowned, and his firm chin looked aggressive.

"It is nothing of the kind. You told me yourself that you would rather
marry old Bessie--a woman of eighty-four--than Violet Hatfield; and now,
when I have found a much more suitable person--a pretty little lady--you
begin to talk. My mind is made up, and there is an end of it."

Mr. Fordyce interrupted.

"Bessie would have been much more suitable--a plain pretext; but you
have no idea what complications you may be storing up for yourself by
marrying a young girl--What is the sense in it?" he continued, a little
excited now. "The younger and prettier she is makes her all the more
unsuitable to be used merely as a tool in your game. Confound it,
Michael!"

"And her game, too," his host reminded him. His eyes were flashing now,
and that expression, which all his underlings knew meant he intended to
have his own will at any cost, grew upon his face.

"You forget that in Scotland divorce is not an impossibility and--_I am