placed them on his
shoulders. "Darling, just kiss me once--quickly--to say good-bye."

And it was at this stage that Zara came full upon them, from a turn in
the stairs. She heard Tristram say disgustedly, "No, I won't," and saw
Lady Highford drop her arms; and in the three steps that separated them,
her wonderful iron self-control, the inheritance of all her years of
suffering, enabled her to stop as if she had seen nothing, and in an
ordinary voice ask if they were to go to the great hall.

"The woman," as she called Laura, should not have the satisfaction of
seeing a trace of emotion in her, or Tristram either. He had answered
immediately, "Yes," and had walked on by her side, in an absolutely
raging temper.

How dare Laura drag him into a disgraceful and ridiculous scene like
this! He could have wrung her neck. What must Zara think? That he was
simply a cad! He could not offer a single explanation, either; indeed,
she had demanded none. He did blurt out, after a moment,

"Lady Highford was very much upset about something. She is hysterical."

"Poor thing!" said Zara indifferently, and walked on.

But when they got into the hall, where most of the company were, she
suddenly felt her knees giving way under her, and hurriedly sank down on
an oak chair.

She felt sick with jealous pain, even though she had plainly seen that
Tristram was no willing victim. But upon what terms could they be, or
have been, for Lady Highford so to lose all sense of shame?

Tristram was watching her anxiously. She must have seen the humiliating
exhibition. It followed, then, she was perfectly indifferent, or she
would have been annoyed. He wished that she had reproached him, or said
something--anything--but to remain completely unmoved was too maddening.

Then the whole company, who were coming out, appeared, and they started.
Some of the men were drawing lots to see if they should shoot in the
morning or in the afternoon. The party was primarily for Lady
Ethelrida's birthday, and the shoot merely an accessory.

Zara walked by the Crow, who was not shooting at all. She was wearied
with Lord Elterton; wearied with every one. The Crow was sententious and
amused her, and did not expect her to talk.

"You have never seen your husband shoot yet, I expect, Lady Tancred,
have you?" he asked her; and when she said, "No," he went on, "Because
you must watch him. He is a very fine shot."

She did not know anything about shooting, only th