” “I can’t imagine what makes you fly out against everything like this,” said Miss Stanley to her niece. ’ ‘Then what?’ demanded Lucilla in a hushed tone. ” 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. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. Manning? I suppose there’s a sort of place like a ticket-office.
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