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And his thoughts went back to the night they had first met, and he remembered then that her eyes had been full of hate resentment and hate as though he, personally, had caused her some injury. Francis Markrute was so very clever: what plan had he had in his head? By what scorpion whip had he perhaps forced her to consent to his wishes and become his Tristram's wife?
But everything she did was filling Tristram with fresh bitterness and pain. To be so sweet and gentle now when it was all too late! He began opening his letters until the tea came. There were the telegrams from Francis Markrute, sent a week before to say Zara was ill, and many epistles from friends. And at the end of the pile he found a short note from Francis Markrute, as well.
You had better go and leave our cards to-day on the Countess Shulski, and another of mine, as well, for the uncle. We'll have to swallow the whole lot, I suppose." "I rather like Mr. Markrute, Papa," Ethelrida said. "I talked to him the other night for the first time; he is extremely intelligent. We ought not to be so prejudiced, perhaps, just because he is a foreigner, and in the City.
Love, as a rule, recks little of the suitability of the object, when it attacks a heart; but in some few cases that is the peculiar charm Francis Markrute had waited until he was forty-six years old, firmly keeping to his ideal, until he found her, in a measure of perfection, of which even he had not dared to dream.
Tristram smiled grimly and then the two men's eyes met and they both laughed. "Jove! Francis!" Lord Tancred exclaimed, "isn't it a wonderful affair! A real dramatic romance, here in the twentieth century. Would not every one think I was mad, if they knew!" "It is that sort of madmen who are often the sanest," Francis Markrute answered. "The world is full of apparently sane fools."
No, he must play his part until he could consult with Francis Markrute, learn all the truth, and then concoct some plan. Out of all the awful ruin of his life he could at least save his name. And after some concentrated moments of agony he mastered himself at last sufficiently to go to his room and dress for dinner. But Count Mimo Sykypri would get no telegram that night!
The Crow gave one of his chuckles, while he answered slowly, between his sips of tea: "A man doesn't handle millions in the year, and twist and turn about half the governments of Europe, if he can't keep his face from showing what he doesn't mean you to see! Bless your dear heart, Mr. Francis Markrute is no infant!" and the chuckle went on.
Francis Markrute said, but she hardly answered him, and as soon as Turner and the footman had left the room she began at once: "Tristram was very angry with me last night because I was out late. I had gone to obtain news of Mirko, I am very anxious about him and I could give Tristram no explanation. I ask you to relieve me from my promise not to tell him about things." The financier frowned.
"Wrayth mortgaged heavily, I suppose?" said Mr. Markrute, quietly. "Pretty well, and the Northern property, too. When my mother's jointure is paid there is not a great deal left this year, it seems. I don't mind much; I had a pretty fair time before these beastly Radicals made things so difficult."
And Tristram said with unconscious cynicism, "Certainly snow but where is the flame?" Francis Markrute looked at him out of the corners of his clever eyes. She had been icy to him in Paris, then! But his was not the temperament to interfere. It was only a question of time. After all, a week was not long to grow accustomed to a perfect stranger.
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