Lady Ethelrida from where she sat could see her face through a gap in the flowers.  The financier had ordered a tall arrangement on purpose:  if Zara by chance should look haughtily indifferent it were better that her expression should escape the observation of all but her nearest neighbors.  However, Lady Ethelrida just caught the picture of her through an oblique angle, against a background of French panelling.

And with her quiet, calm judgment of people she was wondering what was the cause of that strange look in her eyes?  Was it of a stag at bay?  Was it temper, or resentment, or only just pain?  And Tristram had said their color was slate gray; for her part she saw nothing but pools of jet ink!

“There is some tragic story hidden here,” she thought, “and Tristram is too much in love to see it.”  But she felt rather drawn to her new prospective cousin, all the same.

Francis Markrute seemed perfectly happy—­his manner as a host left nothing to be desired; he did not neglect the uninteresting aunt, who formed golden opinions of him; but he contrived to make Lady Ethelrida feel that he wished only to talk to her; not because she was an attractive, young woman, but because he was impressed with her intelligence, in the abstract.  It made things very easy.

The Duke asked Zara if she knew anything about English politics.

“You will have to keep Tristram up to the mark,” he said, “he has done very well now and then, but he is a rather lazy fellow.”  And he smiled.

“‘Tristram,’” she thought.  “So his name is ’Tristram’!” She had actually never heard it before, nor troubled herself to inquire about it.  It seemed incredible, it aroused in her a grim sense of humor, and she looked into the old Duke’s face for a second and wondered what he would say if she announced this fact, and he caught the smile, cynical though it was, and continued: 

“I see you have noticed his laziness!  Now it will really be your duty to make him a first-rate fighter for our cause.  The Radicals will begin to attack our very existence presently, and we must all come up to the scratch.”

“I know nothing as yet of your politics,” Zara said.  “I do not understand which party is which, though my uncle says one consists of gentlemen, and the other of the common people.  I suppose it is like in other countries, every one wanting to secure what some one above him has got, without being fitted for the administration of what he desires to snatch.”

“That is about it,” smiled the Duke.

“It would be reasonable, if they were all oppressed here, as in France before the great revolution, but are they?”

“Oh! dear, no!” interrupted Tristram.  “All the laws are made for the lower classes.  They have compensations for everything, and they have openings to rise to the top of the tree if they wish to.  It is wretched landlords like my uncle and myself who are oppressed!” and he smiled delightedly, he was so happy to hear her talk.