“Give me everything, Michelham,” said his lordship, “I am ravenous.  Then you can go.  Her ladyship will pour out the coffee.”

The old servant beamed upon him, with a “glad to see your lordship’s well!” and, surrounding his plate with hot, covered, silver dishes, quietly made his exit, and so they were alone.

Lady Tancred beamed upon her son, too.  She could not help it.  He looked so completely what he ought to look, she thought—­magnificently healthy and handsome, and perfectly groomed.  No mother could help being proud of him.

“Tristram, dear boy, now tell me all about it,” she said.

“There is hardly anything to tell you, Mother, except that I am going to be married about the 25th of October—­and—­you will be awfully nice to her—­to Zara—­won’t you?” He had taken the precaution to send round a note, early in the morning, to Francis Markrute, asking for his lady’s full name, as he wished to tell his family; so the “Zara” came out quite naturally!  “She is rather a peculiar person, and—­er—­has very stiff manners.  You may not like her at first.”

“No, dear?” said Lady Tancred hesitatingly, “Stiff manners you say?  That at least is on the right side.  I always deplore the modern free-and-easy-ness.”

“Oh, there is nothing free-and-easy about her!” said Tristram, helping himself to a cutlet, while he smiled almost grimly.  His sense of humor was highly aroused oven the whole thing; only that overmastering something which drew him was even stronger than this.

Then he felt that there was no use in allowing his mother to drag information from him; he had better tell her what he meant her to know.

“You see, Mother, the whole thing has been arranged rather suddenly.  I only settled upon it last night myself, and so told you at once.  She will be awfully rich, which is rather a pity in a sense—­though I suppose we shall live at Wrayth again, and all that—–­ but I need not tell you I am not marrying her for such a reason.”

“No, I know you,” Lady Tancred said, “but I cannot agree with you about its being a pity that she is rich.  We live in an age when the oldest and most honored name is useless without money to keep up its traditions, and any woman would find your title and your position well worth all her gold.  There are things you will give her in return which only hundreds of years can produce.  You must have no feeling that you are accepting anything from her which you do not equalize.  Remember, it is a false sentiment.”

“Oh, I expect so—­and she is well bred, you know, so she won’t throw it in my teeth.”  And Lord Tancred smiled.

“I remember old Colonel Grey,” his mother continued; “years ago he drove a coach; but I don’t recollect his brother.  Did he live abroad, perhaps?”

This was an awkward question.  The young fiance was quite ignorant about his prospective bride’s late father!

“Yes,” he said hurriedly.  “Zara married very young, she is quite young now—­only about twenty-three.  Her husband was a brute, and now she has come to live with Francis Markrute.  He is an awfully good fellow, Mother, though you don’t like him; extremely cultivated, and so quaintly amusing, with his cynical views on life.  You will like him when you know him better.  He is a jolly good sportsman, too—­for a foreigner.”