And Ethelrida’s fine senses told her there was no use pressing the matter further, whatever the trouble was this was not the moment to interfere; so she turned the conversation to lighter things, and, finally, talked about her own wedding, and so the time passed.

The Dowager Lady Tancred was too proud to ask any one any questions, although she talked alone with Lady Anningford and could easily have done so:  the only person she mentioned her anxiety to was her brother, the Duke, when, later, she spoke a few words with him alone.

“Tristram looks haggard and very unhappy, Glastonbury,” she said simply, “have you anything to tell me about it?”

“My dear Jane,” replied the Duke, “it is the greatest puzzle in the world; no one can account for it.  I gave him some sound advice at Montfitchet, when I saw things were so strained, and I don’t believe he has taken it, by the look of them to-night.  These young, modern people are so unnaturally cold, though I did hear they had got through the rejoicings, in fine style.”

“It troubles me very much, Glastonbury—­to go abroad and leave him looking like that.  Is it her fault?  Or what—­do you think?”

“’Pon my soul, I can’t say—­even the Crow could not unravel the mystery.  Laura Highford was at Montfitchet—­confound her—­would come; can she have had anything to do with it, I wonder?”

Then they were interrupted and no more could be said, and finally the party broke up, with the poor mother’s feeling of anxiety unassuaged.  Tristram and Zara were to lunch with her to-morrow, to say good-bye, and then she was going to Paris—­by the afternoon train.

And Francis Markrute staying on to smoke a cigar with the Duke, and, presumably, to say a snatched good night to his fiance, Tristram was left to take Zara home alone.

Now would come the moment of the explanation!  But she outwitted him, for they no sooner got into the brougham and he had just begun to speak than she leaned back and interrupted him: 

“You insinuated something on the stairs this evening, the vileness of which I hardly understood at first; I warn you I will hear no more upon the subject!” and then her voice broke suddenly and she said, passionately and yet with a pitiful note, “Ah!  I am suffering so to-night, please—­please don’t speak to me—­leave me alone.”

And Tristram was silenced.  Whatever it was that soon she must explain, he could not torture her to-night, and, in spite of his anger and suspicions and pain, it hurt him to see her, when the lights flashed in upon them, huddled up in the corner—­her eyes like a wounded deer’s.

“Zara!” he said at last—­quite gently, “what is this, awful shadow that is hanging over you?—­If you will only tell me—­” But at that moment they arrived at the door, which was immediately opened, and she walked in and then to the lift without answering, and entering, closed the door.  For what could she say?