” 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. ” He said. ” “Lady Ferringhall—alone?” Ennison exclaimed. Lady Trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted. ‘Please to sit, monsieur. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly. ” “I wonder,” he said, a trifle irrelevantly, “what the future has in store for you.
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