And he realized that if she thought such base things of him she had been more or less right.

But, even so, there was some mystery beyond all this--some cruel and oppressing dark shadow in her life.
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?
And once more the disturbing remembrance of Mimo returned, so that, when at last dawn came and he went back to the hotel, tired out in body and soul, it would not let him rest in his bed.

His bed--in the next room his wife! But one clear decision he had come to.

He would treat her with cold courtesy, and they would play the game.

To part now, in a dramatic manner, the next day after the wedding, was not in his sense of the fitness of things, was not what was suitable or seemly for the Tancred name.
And when he had left her Zara had stood quite still.