” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. I tell you that because it puts us on a footing. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure.
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