the dinner passed.  With her it was alternate torture and pleasure as well, but with him, for the first time since his wedding, there was not any pain.  For he felt he was affecting her, even if she were only “playing the game.”  And gradually, as the time went on and dessert was almost come, the conviction grew in Zara’s brain that he was torturing her on purpose, overdoing the part when the servants were looking; for had he not told her but three hours before that he had loved her—­using the past tense—­and no man regretted a thing more!  Perhaps—­was it possible—­he had seen when he kissed her that she loved him!  And he was just punishing her, and laughing at his dominion over her in his heart; so her pride took fire at once.  Well, she would not be played with!  He would see she could keep to a bargain; and be icy, too, when the play was over.  So when at last the servants had left the room, before coffee was brought, she immediately stiffened and fell into silence; and the two stared in front of them, and back over him crept the chill.  Yes, there was no use deceiving himself.  He had had his one moment of bliss, and now his purgatory would begin again.

Thus the comedy went on.  Soon they had to go and open the ball, and they both won golden opinions from their first partners—­hers, the stalwart bailiff, and his, the bailiff’s wife.

“Although she is a foreigner, Agnes,” Mr. Burrs said to his life’s partner when they got home, “you’d hardly know it, and a lovelier lady I have never seen.”

“She couldn’t be too lovely for his lordship,” his wife retorted.  “Why, William, he made me feel young again!”

The second dance the bridal pair were supposed to dance together; and then when they should see the fun in full swing they were supposed to slip away, because it was considered quite natural that they might wish to be alone.

“You will have to dance with me now, I am afraid, Zara,” Tristram said, and, without waiting for her answer, he placed his arm round her and began the valse.  And the mad intoxication grew again in both of them, and they went on, never stopping, in a wild whirl of delight—­unreasoning, passionate delight—­until the music ceased.

Then Zara who, by long years of suffering, was the more controlled, pulled herself together first, and, with that ingrained instinct to defend herself and her secret love, and to save his possible true construction of her attitude, said stiffly: 

“I suppose we can go now.  I trust you think that I have ’played the game.’”

“Too terribly well,” he said—­stung back to reality.  “It shows me what we have irreparably lost.”  And he gave her his arm and, passed down the lane of admiring and affectionate guests to their part of the house; and at the door of the boudoir he left her without a word.

So, with the bride in lonely anguish in the great state bed, the night of the home-coming passed, and the morrow dawned.