But Zara's decision had come.

There was no other way.

To her uncle's bargain she must consent.
She got up abruptly and flung her hat on the bed--her cloak had already fallen from her--and without further hesitation she descended the stairs.
Francis Markrute was still seated in his library; he had taken out his watch and was calculating the time.

It was twenty-five minutes to eight; his guests would be coming to dine at eight o'clock and he had not begun to dress.

Would his niece have made up her mind by then?
That there could be any doubt about the fact that she would make up her mind as he wished never entered his head.