And so, at last, the ceremony was over, and Lord and Lady Tancred walked into the vestry to sign their names.  And as Zara slipped her hand from the arm of her newly-made husband he bent down his tall head and kissed her lips; and, fortunately, the train of coming relations and friends were behind them, as yet, and the Bishops were looking elsewhere, or they would have been startled to observe the bride shiver, and to have seen the expression of passionate resentment which crept into her face.  But the bridegroom saw it, and it stabbed his heart.

Then it seemed that a number of people kissed her:  his mother and sisters, and Lady Ethelrida, and, lastly, the Duke.

“I am claiming my privilege as an old man,” this latter said gayly, “and I welcome you to all our hearts, my beautiful niece.”

And Zara had answered, but had hardly been able to give even a mechanical smile.

And when they got into the smart, new motor, after passing through the admiring crowds, she had shrunk into her corner, and half closed her eyes.  And Tristram, intensely moved and strained with the excitement of it all, had not known what to think.

But pride made his bride play her part when they reached her uncle’s house.

She stood with her bridegroom, and bowed graciously to the countless, congratulatory friends of his, who passed and shook hands.  And, when soon after they had entered Lady Tancred arrived with Cyril and the girls, she had even smiled sweetly for one moment, when that gallant youth had stood on tiptoe and given her a hearty kiss!  He was very small for his age, and full of superb self-possession.

“I think you are a stunner, Zara,” he said.  “Two of our fellows, cousins of mine, who were in church with me, congratulated me awfully.  And now I hope you’re soon going to cut the cake?”

And Tristram wondered why her mutinous mouth had quivered and her eyes become full of mist.  She was thinking of her own little brother, far away, who did not even know that there would be any cake.

And so, eventually, they had passed through the shower of rice and slippers and were at last alone in the motorcar again; and once more she shrank into her corner and did not speak, and he waited patiently until they should be in the train.

But once there, in the reserved saloon, when the obsequious guard had finally shut the door from waving friends and last hand shakes, and they slowly steamed out of the station, he came over and sat down beside her and tenderly took her little gray-gloved hand.

But she drew it away from him, and moved further off, before he could even speak.

“Zara!” he said pleadingly.

Then she looked intensely fierce.

“Can you not let me be quiet for a moment?” she hissed.  “I am tired out.”

And he saw that she was trembling, and, though he was very much in love and maddeningly exasperated with everything, he let her rest, and even settled her cushion for her, silently, and took a paper and sat in an armchair near, and pretended to read.