” 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. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. " "Very well," replied Thames, about to depart. “What do you want to go out here for, Lucy?” He 217 asked. “I’m being honest with you. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. "Not so," replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. I’m sorry I ruined dinner. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up. "I've spoken. It is only the women matter. "Do better in future. "Do you want it back under the pillow?" "Hang it over a chair.
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