He wished now he had never let his pride hurl forth that ultimatum on the wedding night, because he would have to stick to it! He could not make the slightest advance, and it did not look as if she meant to do so. Tristram in an ordinary case when his deep feelings were not concerned would have known how to display a thousand little tricks for the allurement of a woman, would have known exactly how to cajole her, to give her a flower, and hesitate when he spoke her name--and a number of useful things--but he was too terribly in earnest to be anything but a real, natural man; that is, hurt from her coldness and diffident of himself, and iron-bound with pride. And Zara at the other side of the door felt almost happy. It was the first evening in her life she had ever dressed without some heavy burden of care. Her self-protective, watchful instincts could rest for a while; these new relations were truly, not only seemingly, so kind. The only person she immediately and instinctively disliked was Lady Highford who had gushed and said one or two bitter-sweet things which she had not clearly nor literally understood, but which, she felt, were meant to be hostile. And her husband, Tristram! It was plain to be seen every one loved him--from the old Duke, to the old setter by the fire. And how was it possible for them all to love a man, when--and then her thoughts unconsciously turned to _if_--he were capable of so base a thing as his marriage with her had been? Was it possible there could be any mistake? On the first opportunity she would question her uncle; and although she knew that gentleman would only tell her exactly as much as he wished her to know, that much would be the truth. Dinner was to be at half-past eight. She ought to be punctual, she knew; but it was all so wonderful, and refined, and old-world, in her charming room, she felt inclined to dawdle and look around. It was a room as big as her mother's had been, in the gloomy castle near Prague, but it was full of cozy touches--beyond the great gilt state bed, which she admired immensely--and with which she instinctively felt only the English--and only such English--know how to endow their apartments. Then she roused herself. She _must_ dress. Fortunately her hair did not take any time to twist up. "_Miladi_ is a dream!" Henriette exclaimed when at last she was ready. "_Milor_ will be proud!" And he was. She sent Henriette to knock at his door--his door in the passage--not the one between their rooms!--just on the stroke of half-past eight. He was at that moment going to send Higgins on a like errand! and his sense of humor at the grotesqueness of the situation made him laugh a bitter laugh. The two servants as the messengers!--when he ought to have been in there himself, helping to fix on her jewels, and playing with her hair, and perhaps kissing exquisite bits of her shoulders when the maid was not looking, or fastening her dress!