He stopped dead short when he saw her so white and fragile looking.

Then he exclaimed, "Zara--you have been ill!" "Yes," she faltered.
"Why did they not tell me ?" he said hurriedly, and then recollected himself.

How could they?
No one, not even his servant, knew where he had been.
She dropped back unsteadily on the sofa.
"Uncle Francis did telegraph to you, to Wrayth, but you were not there," she said.
He bit his lips--he was so very moved.

How was he to tell her all the things he had come to say so coldly, with her looking so pitiful, so gentle?
His one longing was to take her to his heart and comfort her, and make her forget all pain.
And she was so afraid of her own weakness, she felt she could not bear to hear her death-knell, yet.

If she could only gain a little time! It was characteristic of her that she never dreamed of defending herself.
She still had not the slightest idea that he suspected Mimo of being her lover.