on one side. "But they are at a ticklish pass in their careers, I tell
you. The balance might go either way. Don't make it too hard for them,
out of mistaken kindness."

"You are tiresome, Crow!" retorted Lady Anningford. "I never can do a
thing I think right without your warning me over it. Do leave it to me."

So, thus admonished, Colonel Lowerby went on with his luncheon.

Zara's eyes looked more stormy than ever, when her husband chanced to
see them. He was sitting nearly opposite her, and he wondered what on
earth she was thinking about. He was filled with a concentrated
bitterness from the events of the morning. Her utter indifference over
the Laura incident had galled him unbearably, although he told himself,
as he had done before, the unconscionable fool he was to allow himself
to go on being freshly wounded by each continued proof of her disdain of
him. Why, when he knew a thing, should he not be prepared for it? He had
a strong will; he _would_ overcome his emotion for her. He could, at
least, make himself treat her, outwardly with the same apparent insolent
indifference, as she treated him.

He made a firm resolve once again, he would not speak to her at all, any
more than he had done the last three days in Paris. He would accept the
position until the Wrayth rejoicings were over, and then he would
certainly make arrangements to go and shoot lions, or travel, or
something. There should be no further "perhaps" about it. Life, with the
agonizing longing for her, seeing her daily and being denied, was more
than could be borne.

There was something about Zara's type, the white, exquisite beauty of