ding, 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 wh