"I'm afraid I must decline to tell you. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. ” 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. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. He was wearing a new silk hat, with a slightly more generous brim than its predecessor, and it suited his type of face, robbed his dark eyes a little of their aggressiveness and gave him a solid and dignified and benevolent air. “The women are taking it up,” said Miss Miniver; “the women and the common people, all pressing forward, all roused. It's of no use. She struggled not to be afraid.
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