She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. The curtain rose out of the concluding bars of the overture and revealed Isolde on the prow of the barbaric ship.
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