” “Two years ago,” she answered. " "As you please, Sir,—provided you don't let him off. ” 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. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. " "Of course—of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that.
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