” 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. Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. ‘Now be sensible, Melusine, and let me help you. Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock. The door popped open with a sigh. And then they talked of Anarchism and Socialism, and whether the former was the exact opposite of the latter or only a higher form. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. An old woman took her in. Whatever you need to do, it is your business. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. . ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease.
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