“A very clear statement, madam,” he said. Anna, who was disposed to be sharply critical, could find no fault with it. ” 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. But all of that was forgotten. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded.
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