“To tell you the truth, it has seemed just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. ” 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. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. Now, she was the very reverse of all this. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. And from that point they went on to a thoroughly embittering wrangle. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it.
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