“To tell you the truth, it has seemed just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. . You must forgive the poet’s license I take. I may want you. ‘That’s better. I don’t think they do matter. Here goes. She turned to the stage, and Tristan was wounded in Kurvenal’s arms, with Isolde at his feet, and King Mark, the incarnation of masculine force and obligation, the masculine creditor of love and beauty, stood over him, and the second climax was ending in wreaths and reek of melodies; and then the curtain was coming down in a series of short rushes, the music had ended, and the people were stirring and breaking out into applause, and the lights of the auditorium were resuming. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. Mr. *** Madame la Comtesse de St Erme regarded the English major with a lacklustre eye, Gerald thought.
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