roken deepness,
until late in the afternoon, and was, in fact, still asleep there when
Tristram came in.

He did not see her at first; the lights were not on and it was almost
dark in the streets. The fire, too, had burnt low. He came forward, and
then went back again and switched on the lamps; and, with the blaze,
Zara sat up and rubbed her eyes. One great plait of her hair had become
loosened and fell at the side of her head, and she looked like a rosy,
sleepy child.

"I did not see you!" Tristram gasped, and, realizing her adorable
attractions, he turned to the fire and vigorously began making it up.

Then, as he felt he could not trust himself for another second, he rang
the bell and ordered some tea to be brought, while he went to his room
to leave his overcoat. And when he thought the excuse of the repast
would be there, he went back.

Zara felt nothing in particular. Even yet she was rather on the
defensive, looking out for every possible attack.

So they both sat down quietly, and for a few moments neither spoke.

She had put up her hair during his absence, and now looked wide-awake
and quite neat.

"I had a most unlucky day," he said--for something to say. "I could not
back a single winner. On the whole I think I am bored with racing."

"It has always seemed boring to me," she said. "If it were to try the
mettle of a horse one had bred I could understand that; or to ride it
oneself and get the better of an adversary: but just with sharp
practices--and for money! It seems so common a thing, I never could take
an interest in that."

"Does anything interest you?" he hazarded, and then he felt sorry he had
shown enough interest to ask.

"Yes," she said slowly, "but perhaps not many games. My life has always
been too ordered by the games of others, to take to them myself." And
then she stopped abruptly. She could not suppose her life interested him
much.

But, on the contrary, he was intensely interested, if she had known.

He felt inclined to tell her so, and that the whole of the present
situation was ridiculous, and that he wanted to know her innermost
thoughts. He was beginning to examine her all critically, and to take in
every point. Beyond his passionate admiration for her beauty there was
something more to analyze.

What was the subtle something of mystery and charm? Why could she not
unbend and tell him the meaning in those fathomless, dark eyes?--What
could they look like, if filled with l