Fortunately, she liked plenty of window open and did not object to
smoke; but with the new air of meekness which was on her face and the
adorably attractive personal scent of the creature, nearly two hours
with her, under a sable rug, was no laughing matter.

At the end of the first half hour of silence and nearness, her husband
found he was obliged to concentrate his mind by counting sheep jumping
over imaginary stiles to prevent himself from clasping her in his arms.

It was the same old story, which has been chronicled over and over
again. Two young, human, natural, normal people fighting against iron
bars. For Zara felt the same as he, and she had the extra anguish of
knowing she had been unjust, and that the present impossible situation
was entirely her own doing.

And how to approach the subject and confess her fault? She did not know.
Her sense of honor made her feel she must, but the queer silent habit of
her life was still holding her enchained. And so, until they got into
his own country, the strained speechlessness continued, and then he
looked out and said:

"We must have the car opened now--please smile and bow as we go through
the villages when any of the old people curtsey to you; the young ones
won't do it, I expect, but my mother's old friends may."

So Zara leaned forward, when the footman had opened the landaulette top,
and tried to look radiant.

And the first act of this pitiful comedy began.