Then you would feel you were always in your own home, and perhaps the Duke would spend much time with us, and we could come to him here, in an hour; but all this is merely a suggestion--everything shall be as you wish." "Francis, you are good to me," she said.
"Darling," he whispered, as he kissed her hair, "it took me forty-six years to find my pearl of price." Then they settled all kinds of other details: how he would give Zara, for her own, the house in Park Lane, which would not be big enough now for them; and he would purchase one of those historic mansions, looking on The Green Park, which he knew was soon to be in the market.
Ethelrida, if she left the ducal roof for the sake of his love, should find a palace worthy of her acceptance waiting for her.
He had completely recovered his balance, upset a little the night before by the uncomfortable momentary fear about his niece.
She and Tristram had arranged to come up to Park Lane for two nights again at the end of the week, to say good-bye to the Dowager Lady Tancred, who was starting with her daughters for Cannes.

If he should see then that things were still amiss, he would tell Tristram the whole history of what Zara had thought of him.

Perhaps that might throw some light on her conduct towards him, and so things could be cleared up.

But he pinned his whole faith on youth and propinquity to arrange matters before then, and dismissed it from his mind.
Meanwhile, the pair in question were speeding along to Wrayth.
Of all the ordeals of the hours which Tristram had had to endure since his wedding, these occasions, upon which he had to sit close beside her in a motor, were the worst.

An ordinary young man, not in love with her, would have found something intoxicating in her atmosphere--and how much more this poor Tristram, who was passionately obsessed.
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.