Chapter 31

When Lady Ethelrida came down to tea, her sweet face was prettily
flushed, for she was quite unused to caresses and the kisses of a man.
Her soft gray eyes were shining with a happiness of which she had not
dreamed, and above all things, she was filled with the exquisite emotion
of having a secret!--a secret of which even her dear friend Anne was
ignorant--a blessed secret, just shared between her lover and herself.
And Lady Anningford, who had no idea that she had spent the afternoon
with the financier, but believed she had religiously written letters
alone, wondered to herself what on earth made Ethelrida look so joyous
and not the least fatigued, as most of the others were. She really got
prettier, she thought, as she grew older, and was always the greatest
dear in the whole world. But, to look as happy as that and have a face
so flushed, was quite mysterious and required the opinion of the Crow!

So she dragged Colonel Lowerby off to a sofa, and began at once:

"Crow, do look at Ethelrida's face! Did you ever see one so idiotically
blissful, except when she has been kissed by the person she loves?"

"Well, how do you know that is not the case with our dear Ethelrida?"
grunted the Crow. "She did not come out for a walk. You had better count
up, and see who else stayed at home!"

So Lady Anningford began laughingly. The idea was too impossible, but
she must reason it out.

"There was Lord Melton but Lady Melton stayed behind, too, and the
Thornbys--all impossible. There was no one else except Tristram, who I
know was in the smoking-room, with a fearful headache, and Mr.
Markrute, who was with the Duke."

"Was he with the Duke?" queried the Crow.

"Crow!" almost gasped Lady Anningford. "Do you mean to tell me that you
think Ethelrida would have her face looking like that about a foreigner!
My dear friend, you must have taken leave of your seven senses--" and
then she paused, for several trifles came back to her recollection,
connected with these two, which, now that the Crow had implanted a
suspicion in her breast, began to assume considerable proportions.

Ethelrida had talked of most irrelevant matters always during their
good-night chats, unless the subject happened to be Zara, and she had
never once mentioned Mr. Markrute personally or given any opinion about
him; and yet, as Anne had seen, they had often talked. There must be
something in it, but that was not enough to account for Ethelrida's
face. A pale, rather purely colorless complexion like hers did not
suddenly change to bright scarlet cheeks, without some practical means!
And, as Anne very well knew, kisses were a very practical means! But her
friend Ethelrida would never allow any man to kiss her, unless she had
promised to marry him. Now, if it had been Lily Opie, she could not have
been so sure, though she hoped she could be sure of any nice girl; but
about Ethelrida she could take her oath. It followed, as Ethelrida had
been quite pale at lunch and was not a person who went to sleep over
fires, something extraordinary must have happened--but what?

"Crow, dear, I have never been so thrilled in my life," she said, after
her thoughts had come to this stage. "The lurid tragedy of the honeymoon
pair cannot compare in interest to anything connected with my sweet
Ethelrida, for me, so it is your duty to put that horribly wise, cynical
brain of yours to work and unravel me this mystery. Look, here is Mr.
Markrute coming in--let us watch his face!"

But, although they subjected the financier to the keenest good-natured
scrutiny, he did not show a sign or give them any clue. He sat down
quietly, and began talking casually to the group by the tea-table, while
he methodically spread his bread and butter with blackberry jam. Such
delicious schoolroom teas the company indulged in, at the hospitable
tea-table of Montfitchet! He did not seem to be even addressing
Ethelrida. What could it be?

"I believe we have made a mistake after all, Crow," Lady Anningford said
disappointedly. "Look--he is quite unmoved."

The Crow gave one of his chuckles, while he answered slowly, between his
sips of tea:

"A man doesn't handle millions in the year, and twist and turn about
half the governments of Europe, if he can't keep his face from showing
what he doesn't mean you to see! Bless your dear heart, Mr. Francis
Markrute is no infant!" and the chuckle went on.

"You may think yourself very wise, Crow, and so you are," Lady
Anningford retorted severely, "but you don't know anything about love.
When a man is in love, even if he were Machiavelli himself, it would be
bound to show in his eye--if one looked long enough."

"Then your plan, my dear Queen Anne, is to look," the Crow said,
smiling. "For my part, I want to see how the other pair have got on.
They are my pets; and I don't consider they have spent at all a suitable
honeymoon Sunday afternoon--Tristram, with a headache in the
smoking-room, and the bride, taking a walk and being made love to by
Arthur Elterton, and Young Billy, alternately. The kid is as wild about
her as Tristram himself, I believe!"

"Then you still think Tristram is in love with her, do you, Crow?" asked
Anne, once more interested in her original thrill. "He did not show the
smallest signs of it last night then, if so; and how he did not seize
her in his arms and devour her there and then, with all that lovely hair
down and her exquisite shape showing the outline so in that dress--I
can't think! He must be as cold as a stone, and I never thought him so
before, did you?"

"No, and he isn't either, I tell you what, my dear girl, there is
something pretty grim keeping those two apart, I am sure. She is the
kind of woman who arouses the fiercest passions; and Tristram is in the
state that, if something were really to set alight his jealousy, he
might kill her some day."

"Crow--how terrible!" gasped Anne, and then seeing that her friend's
face was serious, and not chaffing, she, too, looked grave. "Then what
on earth is to be done?" she asked.

"I don't know, I have been thinking it over ever since I came in. I
found him in the smoking-room, staring in front of him, not even
pretending to read, and looking pretty white about the gills; and when
he saw it was only me, and I asked him if his head were worse, and
whether he had not better have a brandy and soda, he simply said: 'No,
thanks, the whole thing is a d---- rotten show.' I've known him since he
was a blessed baby you know, so he didn't mind me for a minute. Then he
recollected himself, and said, yes, he would have a drink; and when he
poured it out, he only sipped it, and then forgot about it, jumped up,
and blurted out he had some letters to write, so I left him. I am
awfully sorry for the poor chap, I can tell you. If it is not fate, but
some caprice of hers, she deserves a jolly good beating, for making him
suffer like that."

"Couldn't you say something to her, Crow, dear? We are all so awfully
fond of Tristram, and there does seem some tragedy hanging over them
that ought to be stopped at once. Couldn't you, Crow?"

But Colonel Lowerby shook his head.

"It is too confoundedly ticklish," he grunted. "It might do some good,
and it might just do the other thing. It is too dangerous to interfere."

"Well, you have made me thoroughly uncomfortable," Lady Anningford said.
"I shall get hold of him to-night, and see what I can do."

"Then, mind you are careful, Queen Anne--that is all that I can say,"
and at that moment, the Duke joining them, the t�te-�-t�te broke up.

Zara had not appeared at tea. She said she was very tired, and would
rest until dinner. If she had been there, her uncle had meant to take
her aside into one of the smaller sitting-rooms, and tell her the piece
of information he deemed it now advisable for her to know; but as she
did not appear, or Tristram, either, he thought after all they might be
together, and his interference would be unnecessary. But he decided, if
he saw the same frigid state of things at dinner, he would certainly
speak to her after it; and relieved from duty, he went once more to
find his lady love in her sitting-room.

"Francis!" she whispered, as he held her next his heart for a moment.
"You must not stay ten minutes, for Lady Anningford or Lady Melton is
sure to come in--Anne, especially, who has been looking at me with such
reproachful eyes, for having neglected her all this, our last
afternoon."

"I care not for a thousand Annes, Ethelrida mine!" he said softly, as he
kissed her. "If she does come, will it matter? Would you rather she did
not guess anything yet, my dearest?"

"Yes--" said Ethelrida, "--I don't want any one to know, until you have
told my father,--will you do so to-night--or wait until to-morrow? I--I
can't--I feel so shy--and he will be so surprised." She did not add her
secret fear that her parent might be very angry.

They had sat down upon the sofa now, under the light of their kindly
gray owl; and Francis Markrute contented himself with caressing his
lady's hair, as he answered:

"I thought of asking the Duke, if I might stay until the afternoon
train, as I had something important to discuss with him, and then wait
and see him quietly, when all the others have gone, if that is what you
would wish, my sweet. I will do exactly as you desire about all things.
I want you to understand that. You are to have your own way in
everything in life."

"You know very well that I should never want it, if it differed from
yours, Francis." What music he found in his name! "You are so very wise,
it will be divine to let you guide me!" Which tender speech showed that
the gentle Ethelrida had none of the attitude of the modern bride.

And thus it was arranged. The middle-aged, but boyishly-in-love, fianc�
was to tackle his future father-in-law in the morning's light; and
to-night, let the household sleep in peace!

So, after a blissful interlude, as he saw in spite of the joy they found
together, his Ethelrida was still slightly nervous of Lady Anningford's
entrance, he got up to say good night, as alas! this would probably be
the last chance they would have alone before he left.

"And you will not make me wait too long, my darling," he implored, "will
you? You see, every moment away from you, will now be wasted. I do not
know how I have borne all these years alone!"

And she promised everything he wished, for Francis Markrute, at
forty-six, had far more allurements than an impetuous young lover. Not a
tenderness, a subtlety of flattery and homage, those things so dear to a
woman's heart, were forgotten by him. He really worshiped Ethelrida and
his fashion of showing his feeling was in all ways to think first of
what she would wish; which proved that if her attitude were unmodern, as
far as women were concerned, his was even more so, among men!

Tristram had gone out for another walk alone, after the Crow had left
him. He wanted to realize the details of the coming week, and settle
with himself how best to get through with them.

He and Zara were to start in their own motor at about eleven for Wrayth,
which was only forty miles across the border into Suffolk. They would
reach it inside of two hours easily, and arrive at the first triumphal
arch of the park before one; and so go on through the shouting
villagers to the house, where in the great banqueting hall, which still
remained, a relic of Henry IV's time, joined on to the Norman keep, they
would have to assist at a great luncheon to the principal tenants, while
the lesser fry feasted in a huge tent in the outer courtyard.

Here, endless speeches would have to be made and listened to, and joy
simulated, and a general air of hilarity kept up; and the old
housekeeper would have prepared the large rooms in the Adam wing for
their reception; and they would not be free to separate, until late at
night, for there would be the servants' and employ�s' ball, after a
t�te-�-t�te dinner in state, where their every action would be watched
and commented upon by many curious eyes. Yes, it was a terrible ordeal
to go through, under the circumstances; and no wonder he wanted the
cold, frosty evening air to brace him up!

At the end of his troubled thoughts he had come to the conclusion that
there was only one thing to be done--he must speak to her to-night, tell
her what to expect, and ask her to play her part. "She is fortunately
game, even if cold as stone," he said to himself, "and if I appeal to
her pride, she will help me out." So he came back into the house, and
went straight up to her room. He had been through too much suffering and
anguish of heart, all night and all day, to be fearful of temptation. He
felt numb, as he knocked at the door and an indifferent voice called
out, "Come in!"

He opened it a few inches and said: "It is I--Tristram--I have something
I must say to you--May I come in?--or would you prefer to come down to
one of the sitting-rooms? I dare say we could find one empty, so as to
be alone."

"Please come in," her voice said, and she was conscious that she was
trembling from head to foot.

So he obeyed her, shutting the door firmly after him and advancing to
the fireplace. She had been lying upon the sofa wrapped in a soft blue
tea-gown, and her hair hung in the two long plaits, which she always
unwound when she could to take its weight from her head. She rose from
her reclining position and sat in the corner; and after glancing at her
for a second, Tristram turned his eyes away, and leaning on the
mantelpiece, began in a cold grave voice:

"I have to ask you to do me a favor. It is to help me through to-morrow
and the few days after, as best you can, by conforming to our ways. It
has been always the custom in the family, when a Tancred brought home
his bride, to have all sorts of silly rejoicings. There will be
triumphal arches in the park, and collections of village people, a lunch
for the principal tenants, speeches, and all sorts of boring things.
Then we shall have to dine alone in the state dining-room, with all the
servants watching us, and go to the household and tenants' ball in the
great hall. It will all be ghastly, as you can see." He paused a moment,
but he did not change the set tone in his voice when he spoke again, nor
did he look at her. He had now come to the hardest part of his task.

"All these people--who are my people," he went on, "think a great deal
of these things, and of us--that is--myself, as their landlord, and you
as my wife. We have always been friends, the country folk at Wrayth and
my family, and they adored my mother. They are looking forward to our
coming back and opening the house again--and--and--all that--and--" here
he paused a second time, it seemed as if his throat were dry, for
suddenly the remembrance of his dreams as he looked at Tristram
Guiscard's armor, which he had worn at Agincourt, came back to him--his
dreams in his old oak-paneled room--of their home-coming to Wrayth; and
the mockery of the reality hit him in the face.

Zara clasped her hands, and if he had glanced at her again, he would
have seen all the love and anguish which was convulsing her shining in
her sad eyes.

He mastered the emotion which had hoarsened his voice, and went on in an
even tone: "What I have to ask is that you will do your share--wear some
beautiful clothes, and smile, and look as if you cared; and if I feel
that it will be necessary to take your hand or even kiss you, do not
frown at me, or think I am doing it from choice--I ask you, because I
believe you are as proud as I am,--I ask you, please, to play the game."

And now he looked up at her, but the terrible emotion she was suffering
had made her droop her head. He would not kiss her or take her
hand--from choice--that was the main thing her woman's heart had
grasped, the main thing, which cut her like a knife.

"You can count upon me," she said, so low he could hardly hear her; and
then she raised her head proudly, and looked straight in front of her,
but not at him, while she repeated more firmly: "I will do in every way
what you wish--what your mother would have done. I am no weakling, you
know, and as you said, I am as proud as yourself."

He dared not look at her, now the bargain was made, so he took a step
towards the door, and then turned and said:

"I thank you--I shall be grateful to you. Whatever may occur, please
believe that nothing that may look as if it was my wish to throw us
together, as though we were really husband and wife, will be my fault;
and you can count upon my making the thing as easy for you as I can--and
when the mockery of the rejoicings are over--then we can discuss our
future plans."

And though Zara was longing to cry aloud in passionate pain, "I love
you! I love you! Come back and beat me, if you will, only do not go
coldly like that!" she spoke never a word. The strange iron habit of her
life held her, and he went sadly from the room.

And when he had gone, she could control herself no longer and, forgetful
of coming maid and approaching dinner, she groveled on the white
bearskin rug before the fire, and gave way to passionate tears--only to
recollect in a moment the position of things. Then she got up and shook
with passion against fate, and civilization, and custom--against the
whole of life. She could not even cry in peace. No! She must play the
game! So her eyes had to be bathed, the window opened, and the icy air
breathed in, and at last she had quieted herself down to the look of a
person with a headache, when the dressing-gong sounded, and her maid
came into the room.