“I did not see you!” Tristram gasped, and, realizing her adorable attractions, he turned to the fire and vigorously began making it up.

Then, as he felt he could not trust himself for another second, he rang the bell and ordered some tea to be brought, while he went to his room to leave his overcoat.  And when he thought the excuse of the repast would be there, he went back.

Zara felt nothing in particular.  Even yet she was rather on the defensive, looking out for every possible attack.

So they both sat down quietly, and for a few moments neither spoke.

She had put up her hair during his absence, and now looked wide-awake and quite neat.

“I had a most unlucky day,” he said—­for something to say.  “I could not back a single winner.  On the whole I think I am bored with racing.”

“It has always seemed boring to me,” she said.  “If it were to try the mettle of a horse one had bred I could understand that; or to ride it oneself and get the better of an adversary:  but just with sharp practices—­and for money!  It seems so common a thing, I never could take an interest in that.”

“Does anything interest you?” he hazarded, and then he felt sorry he had shown enough interest to ask.

“Yes,” she said slowly, “but perhaps not many games.  My life has always been too ordered by the games of others, to take to them myself.”  And then she stopped abruptly.  She could not suppose her life interested him much.

But, on the contrary, he was intensely interested, if she had known.

He felt inclined to tell her so, and that the whole of the present situation was ridiculous, and that he wanted to know her innermost thoughts.  He was beginning to examine her all critically, and to take in every point.  Beyond his passionate admiration for her beauty there was something more to analyze.

What was the subtle something of mystery and charm?  Why could she not unbend and tell him the meaning in those fathomless, dark eyes?—­What could they look like, if filled with love and tenderness?  Ah!

And if he had done as he felt inclined at the moment the ice might have been broken, and at the end of the week they would probably have been in each other’s arms.  But fate ordered otherwise, and an incident that night, at dinner, caused a fresh storm.

Zara was looking so absolutely beautiful in her lovely new clothes that it was not in the nature of gallant foreigners to allow her to dine unmolested by their stares, and although the tete-a-tete dinner was quite early at the Cafe de Paris, there happened to be a large party of men next to them and Zara found herself seated in close proximity to a nondescript Count, whom she recognized as one of her late husband’s friends.  Every one who knows the Cafe de Paris can realize how this happened.  The long velvet seats without divisions and the small tables in front make, when the place is full, the whole side look as if it were one big group.  Lord Tancred was quite accustomed to it; he knew Paris well as he had told her, so he ought to have been prepared for what could happen, but he was not.