She _must_ dress.

Fortunately her hair did not take any time to twist up.
"_Miladi_ is a dream!" Henriette exclaimed when at last she was ready.
"_Milor_ will be proud!" And he was.
She sent Henriette to knock at his door--his door in the passage--not the one between their rooms!--just on the stroke of half-past eight.

He was at that moment going to send Higgins on a like errand! and his sense of humor at the grotesqueness of the situation made him laugh a bitter laugh.
The two servants as the messengers!--when he ought to have been in there himself, helping to fix on her jewels, and playing with her hair, and perhaps kissing exquisite bits of her shoulders when the maid was not looking, or fastening her dress! Well, the whole thing was a ghastly farce that must be got through; he would take up politics, and be a wonderful landlord to the people at Wrayth; and somehow, he would get through with it, and no one should ever know, from him, of his awful mistake.
He hardly allowed himself to tell her she looked very beautiful as they walked along the great corridor.

She was all in deep sapphire-blue gauze, with no jewels on at all but the Duke's splendid brooch.
That was exquisite of her, he appreciated that fine touch.

Indeed, he appreciated everything about her--if she had known.
People were always more or less on time in this house, and after the silent hush of admiration caused by the bride's entrance they all began talking and laughing, and none but Lady Highford and another woman were late.
And as Zara walked along the white drawing-room, on the old Duke's arm, she felt that somehow she had got back to a familiar atmosphere, where she was at rest after long years of strife.
Lady Ethelrida had gone in with the bridegroom--to-night everything was done with strict etiquette--and on her left hand she had placed the bride's uncle.