There was an air of restrained excitement, importance and mystery among the ladies at luncheon.  They had got back to the house in time to have their conclave before that meal, and everything was satisfactorily settled.  Lady Anningford, who had not accompanied them out shooting, had thought out a whole scheme, and announced it upon their return amidst acclamations.

They would represent as many characters as they could from the “Idylls of the King,” because the style would be such loose, hanging kinds of garments, the maids could run up the long straight seams in no time.  And it would be so much more delightful, all to carry out one idea, than the usual powdered heads and non-descript things people chose for such impromptu occasions.  It only remained to finally decide the characters.  She considered that Ethelrida should undoubtedly be Guinevere; but, above all, Zara must be Isolt!

“Of course, of course!” they all cried unanimously, while Zara’s eyes went black. “Tristram and Isolt!  How splendid!”

“And I shall be Brangaine, and give the love potion,” Lady Anningford went on.  “Although it does not come into the ‘Idylls of the King,’ it should do so.  It is just because Tennyson was so fearfully, respectably Early Victorian!  I have been looking all the real thing up in the ’Morte d’ Arthur’ in the library, and in the beautiful edition of ’Tristram and Yseult’ in Ethelrida’s room.”

“How perfectly enchanting!” cried Lady Betty.  “I must be the Lady of the Lake ­it is much the most dramatic part.  And let us get the big sword out of the armory for Excalibur!  I can have it, and brandish it as I enter the room.”

“Oh, nonsense, Betty darling!” Ethelrida said.  “You are the very picture of Lynette, with your enchanting nose ’tiptilted like the tender petal of a flower,’ and your shameful treatment of poor Jimmy!”

And Lady Betty, after bridling a little, consented.

Then the other parts were cast.  Emily should be Enid and Mary, Elaine, while Lady Melton, Lady Thornby and Mrs. Harcourt should be the Three Fair Queens.

“I shall be Ettarre,” said Lily Opie.  “The others are all good and dull; and I prefer her, because I am sure she wasn’t!  And certainly Lady Highford must be Vivien!  She is exactly the type, in one of her tea gowns!”

Laura rather liked the idea of Vivien.  It had cachet, she thought.  She was very fond of posing as a mysterious enchantress, the mystic touch pleased her vanity.

So, of the whole party, only Zara did not feel content.  Tristram might think she had chosen this herself, as an advance towards him.

Then the discussion, as to the garments to be worn, began.  Numbers of ornaments and bits of tea-gowns would do.  But with her usual practical forethought, Lady Anningford had already taken time by the forelock, and asked that one of the motors, going in to Tilling Green on a message, should bring back all the bales of bright and light-colored mérinos and nunscloths the one large general shop boasted of.

And, amidst screams of delighted excitement from the girls, the immense parcel was presently unpacked.

It contained marvels of white and creams, and one which was declared the exact thing for Isolt.  It was a merino of that brilliant violent shade of azure, the tone which is advertised as “Rickett’s Paris blue” for washing clothes.  It had been in the shop for years, and was unearthed for this occasion ­a perfect relic of later Victorian aniline dye.

“It will be simply too gorgeously wonderful, with just a fillet of gold round her head, and all her adorable red hair hanging down,” Lady Anningford said to Ethelrida.

“We shan’t have to wear a stitch underneath,” Lady Betty announced decidedly, while she pirouetted before a cheval glass ­they were all in Lady Anningford’s room ­with some stuff draped round her childish form.  “The gowns must have the right look, just long, straight things, with hanging sleeves and perhaps a girdle.  I shall have cream, and you, Mary, as Elaine, must have white; but Emily had better have that mauve for Enid, as she was married.”

“Why must Enid have mauve because she is married?” asked Emily, who did not like the color.

“I don’t know why,” Lady Betty answered, “except that, if you are married, you can’t possibly have white, like Mary and me, who aren’t.  People are quite different ­after, and mauve is very respectable for them,” she went on.  Grammar never troubled her little ladyship, when giving her valuable opinion upon things and life.

“I think Enid was a goose,” said Emily, pouting.

“Not half as much as Elaine,” said Mary.  “She had secured her Geraint, whereas Elaine made a perfect donkey of herself over Lancelot, who did not care for her.”

“I like our parts much the best, Lily’s and mine,” said Lady Betty.  “I do give my Jim ­Gareth? ­a lively time, at all events!  Just what I should do, if it were in real life.”

“What you do do, you mean, not what you would do, Minx!” said her aunt, laughing.

And at this stage the shooters were seen advancing across the park, and the band of ladies, full of importance, descended to luncheon.

Lady Anningford sat next the Crow and told him what they had decided, in strict confidence, of course.

“We shall have the most delightful fun, Crow.  I have thought it all out.  At dessert I am going to hand one of the gold cups in which we are going to put a glass of some of the Duke’s original old Chartreuse, to the bridal pair, as if to drink their health; and then, when they have drunk it, I am going to be overcome at the mistake of having given them a love-potion, just as in the real story!  You can’t tell ­it may bring them together.”

“Queen Anne, you wonder!” said the Crow.

“It is such a deliciously incongruous idea, you see,” Lady Anningford went on.  “All of us in long pre-mediaeval garments, with floating hair, and all of you in modern hunt coats!  I should like to have seen Tristram in gold chain armor.”

The Crow grunted approval.

“Ethelrida is going to arrange that they go in to dinner together.  She is going to say it will be their last chance before they get to King Mark.  Won’t it all be perfect?”

“Well, I suppose you know best,” the Crow said, with his wise old head on one side.  “But they are at a ticklish pass in their careers, I tell you.  The balance might go either way.  Don’t make it too hard for them, out of mistaken kindness.”

“You are tiresome, Crow!” retorted Lady Anningford.  “I never can do a thing I think right without your warning me over it.  Do leave it to me.”

So, thus admonished, Colonel Lowerby went on with his luncheon.

Zara’s eyes looked more stormy than ever, when her husband chanced to see them.  He was sitting nearly opposite her, and he wondered what on earth she was thinking about.  He was filled with a concentrated bitterness from the events of the morning.  Her utter indifference over the Laura incident had galled him unbearably, although he told himself, as he had done before, the unconscionable fool he was to allow himself to go on being freshly wounded by each continued proof of her disdain of him.  Why, when he knew a thing, should he not be prepared for it?  He had a strong will; he would overcome his emotion for her.  He could, at least, make himself treat her, outwardly with the same apparent insolent indifference, as she treated him.

He made a firm resolve once again, he would not speak to her at all, any more than he had done the last three days in Paris.  He would accept the position until the Wrayth rejoicings were over, and then he would certainly make arrangements to go and shoot lions, or travel, or something.  There should be no further “perhaps” about it.  Life, with the agonizing longing for her, seeing her daily and being denied, was more than could be borne.

There was something about Zara’s type, the white, exquisite beauty of her skin, her slenderly voluptuous shape, the stormy suggestion of hidden passion in her slumberous eyes, which had always aroused absolutely mad emotions in men.  Tristram, who was a normal Englishman, self-contained and reserved, and too completely healthy to be highly-strung, felt undreamed-of sensations rise in him when he looked at her, which was as rarely as possible.  He understood now what was meant by an obsession ­all the states of love he had read of in French novels and dismissed as “tommyrot.”  She did not only affect him with a thrilling physical passion.  It was an obsession of the mind as well.  He suffered acutely; as each day passed it seemed as if he could not bear any more, and the next always brought some further pain.

They had actually only been married for ten days! and it seemed an eternity of anguish to both of them, for different reasons.

Zara’s nature was trying to break through the iron bands of her life training.  Once she had admitted to herself that she loved her husband, her suffering was as deep as his, only that she was more practiced in the art of suppressing all emotion.  But it was no wonder that they both looked pale and stern, and quite unbridal.

The sportsmen started immediately after lunch again, and the ladies returned to their delightful work; and, when they all assembled for tea, everything was almost completed.  Zara had been unable to resist the current of light-hearted gayety which was in the air, and now felt considerably better; so she allowed Lord Elterton to sit beside her after tea and pour homage at her feet, with the expression of an empress listening to an address of loyalty from some distant colony; and the Crow leant back in his chair and chuckled to himself, much to Lady Anningford’s annoyance.

“What in the world is it, Crow?” she said.  “When you laugh like that, I always know some diabolically cynical idea is floating in your head, and it is not good for you.  Tell me at once what you mean!”

But Colonel Lowerby refused to be drawn, and presently took Tristram off into the billiard-room.

It was arranged that all the men, even the husbands, were to go down into the great white drawing-room first, so that the ladies might have the pleasure of making an entrance en bande, to the delight of every one.  And when this group of Englishmen, so smart in their scarlet hunt coats, were assembled at the end, by the fireplace, footmen opened the big double doors, and the groom of the chambers announced,

“Her Majesty, Queen Guinevere, and the Ladies of her Court.”

And Ethelrida advanced, her fair hair in two long plaits, with her mother’s all-round diamond crown upon her head, and clothed in some white brocade garment, arranged with a blue merino cloak, trimmed with ermine and silver.  She looked perfectly regal, and as nearly beautiful as she had ever done; and to the admiring eyes of Francis Markrute, she seemed to outshine all the rest.

Then, their names called as they entered, came Enid and Elaine, each fair and sweet; and Vivien and Ettarre; then Lynette walking alone, with her saucy nose in the air and her flaxen curls spread out over her cream robe, a most bewitching sight.

Several paces behind her came the Three Fair Queens, all in wonderfully contrived garments, and misty, floating veils; and lastly, quite ten paces in the rear, walked Isolt, followed by her Brangaine.  And when the group by the fireplace caught sight of her, they one and all drew in their breath.

For Zara had surpassed all expectations.  The intense and blatant blue of her long clinging robe, which would have killed the charms of nine women out of ten, seemed to enhance the beauty of her pure white skin and marvelous hair.  It fell like a red shining cloak all round her, kept in only by a thin fillet of gold, while her dark eyes gleamed with a new excitement.  She had relaxed her dominion of herself, and was allowing the natural triumphant woman in her to have its day.  For once in her life she forgot everything of sorrow and care, and permitted herself to rejoice in her own beauty and its effect upon the world before her.

“Jee-hoshaphat!” was the first articulate word that the company heard, from the hush which had fallen upon them; and then there was a chorus of general admiration, in which all the ladies had their share.  And only the Crow happened to glance at Tristram, and saw that his face was white as death.

Then the two parties, about twenty people in all, began to arrive from the other houses, and delighted exclamations of surprise at the splendor of the impromptu fancy garments were heard all over the room, and soon dinner was announced, and they went in.

“My Lord Tristram,” Ethelrida had said to her cousin, “I beg of you to conduct to my festal board your own most beautiful Lady Isolt.  Remember, on Monday you leave us for the realm of King Mark, so make the most of your time!” And she turned and led forward Zara, and placed her hand in his; she, and they all, were too preoccupied with excitement and joy to see the look of deep pain in his eyes.

He held his wife’s hand, until the procession started, and neither of them spoke a word.  Zara, still exalted with the spirit of the night, felt only a wild excitement.  She was glad he could see her beauty and her hair, and she raised her head and shook it back, as they started, with a provoking air.

But Tristram never spoke; and by the time they had reached the banqueting-hall, some of her exaltation died down, and she felt a chill.

Her hair was so very long and thick that she had to push it aside, to sit down, and in doing so a mesh flew out and touched his face; and the Crow, who was watching the whole drama intently, noticed that he shivered and, if possible, grew more pale.  So he turned to his own servant, behind his chair, who with some of the other valets, was helping to wait, and whispered to him, “Go and see that Lord Tancred is handed brandy, at once, before the soup.”

And so the feast began.

On Zara’s other hand sat the Duke, and on Tristram’s, Brangaine ­for so she and Ethelrida had arranged for their later plan; and after the brandy, which Tristram dimly wondered why he should have been handed, he pulled himself together, and tried to talk; and Zara busied herself with the Duke.  She quite came out of her usual silence, and laughed, and looked so divinely attractive that the splendid old gentleman felt it all going to his head; and his thoughts wondered bluntly, how soon, if he were his nephew, he would take her away after dinner and make love to her all to himself!  But these modern young fellows had not half the mettle that he had had!

So at last dessert-time came, with its toasts for the Queen Guinevere.  And the bridal pair had spoken together never a word; and Lady Anningford, who was watching them, began to fear for the success of her plan.  However, there was no use turning back now.  So, amidst jests of all sorts in keeping with the spirit of Camelot and the Table Round, at last Brangaine rose and, taking the gold cup in front of her, said,

“I, Brangaine, commissioned by her Lady Mother, to conduct the Lady Isolt safely to King Mark, under the knightly protection of the Lord Tristram, do now propose to drink their health, and ye must all do likewise, Lords and Ladies of Arthur’s court.”  And she sipped her own glass, while she handed the gold cup to the Duke, who passed it on to the pair; and Tristram, because all eyes were upon him, forced himself to continue the jest.  So he rose and, taking Zara’s hand, while he bowed to the company, gave her the cup to drink, and then took it himself, while he drained the measure.  And every one cried, amidst great excitement, “The health and happiness of Tristram and Isolt!”

Then, when the tumult had subsided a little, Brangaine gave a pretended shriek.

“Mercy me!  I am undone!” she cried.  “They have quaffed of the wrong cup!  That gold goblet contained a love-potion distilled from rare plants by the Queen, and destined for the wedding wine of Isolt and King Mark!  And now the Lord Tristram and she have drunk it together, by misadventure, and can never be parted more!  Oh, misery me!  What have I done!”

And amidst shouts of delighted laughter led by the Crow ­in frozen silence, Tristram held his wife’s hand.

But after a second, the breeding in them both, as on their wedding evening before the waiters, again enabled them to continue the comedy; and they, too, laughed, and, with the Duke’s assistance, got through the rest of dinner, until they all rose and went out, two and two, the men leading their ladies by the hand, as they had come in.

And if the cup had indeed contained a potion distilled by the Irish sorceress Queen, the two victims could not have felt more passionately in love.

But Tristram’s pride won the day for him, for this one time, and not by a glance or a turn of his head did he let his bride see how wildly her superlative attraction had kindled the fire in his blood.  And when the dancing began, he danced with every other lady first, and then went off into the smoking-room, and only just returned in time to be made to lead out his “Isolt” in a final quadrille ­not a valse.  No powers would have made him endure the temptation of a valse!

And even this much, the taking of her hand, her nearness, the sight of the exquisite curves of her slender figure, and her floating hair, caused him an anguish unspeakable, so that when the rest of the company had gone, and good nights were said, he went up to his room, changed his coat, and strode away alone, out into the night.