fatigued she would like to go to bed and not have to come down to
dinner.

"I will not do so, if it would not be in the game," she said.

And he answered, shortly:

"The game is over, to-night: do as you please."

So she went off sadly, and did not see him again until they were ready
to start in the morning--the Friday morning, which Tristram called the
beginning of the end!

He had arranged that they should go by train, and not motor up, as he
usually did because he loved motoring; but the misery of being so close
to her, even now when he hoped he loathed and despised her, was too
great to chance. So, early after lunch, they started, and would be at
Park Lane after five. No telegram had come for Zara--Mimo must be
away--but, in any case, it indicated nothing unusual was happening,
unless he had been called to Bournemouth by Mirko himself and had left
hurriedly. This idea so tortured her that by the time she got to London
she could not bear it, and felt she must go to Neville Street and see.
But how to get away?

Francis Markrute was waiting for them in the library, and seemed so full
of the exuberance of happiness that she could not rush off until she had
poured out and pretended to enjoy a lengthy tea.

And the change in the reserved man struck them both. He seemed years
younger, and full of the milk of human kindness. And Tristram thought of