She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. ‘Would you like me to enquire for your mystery lady, Gerald? I know the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme quite well. And I’m afraid. “Vee,” she said, “come home. 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. I'd have got something nice. He waved a cordial goodbye. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him.
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