So a few minutes before twelve they met in the sitting-room.
Her whole expression was on the defensive: he saw that at once.
The waiters would be coming in with the breakfast soon. Would there be time to talk to her, or had he better postpone it until they were certain to be alone? He decided upon this latter course, and just said a cold "Good morning," and turned to the New York Herald and looked at the news.
Zara felt more reassured.
So they presently sat down to their breakfast, each ready to play the game.
They spoke of the theaters—the one they had arranged to go to this Saturday night was causing all Paris to laugh.
"It will be a jolly good thing to laugh," Tristram said—and Zara agreed.
He made no allusion to the events of the night before, and she hardly spoke at all. And at last the repast was over, and the waiters had left the room.
Tristram got up, after his coffee and liqueur, but he lit no cigar; he went to one of the great windows which look out on the Colonne Vendôme, and then he came back. Zara was sitting upon the heliotrope Empire sofa and had picked up the paper again.
He stood before her, with an expression upon his face which ought to have melted any woman.