"_Miladi_ is not at all well." And Francis Markrute, deeply distressed, telephoned at once for his physician.
His betrothed had gone back to the country after luncheon, so he could not even have the consolation of her sympathy, and where Tristram was he did not know.
For the four following days Zara lay in her bed, seriously ill.

She had caught a touch of influenza the eminent physician said, and had evidently had a most severe shock as well.

But she was naturally so splendidly healthy that, in spite of grief and hopelessness, the following Thursday she was able to get up again.

Francis Markrute thought her illness had been merciful in a way because the funeral had all been got over while she was confined to her room.

Zara had accepted everything without protest.