She turned to the stage, and Tristan was wounded in Kurvenal’s arms, with Isolde at his feet, and King Mark, the incarnation of masculine force and obligation, the masculine creditor of love and beauty, stood over him, and the second climax was ending in wreaths and reek of melodies; and then the curtain was coming down in a series of short rushes, the music had ended, and the people were stirring and breaking out into applause, and the lights of the auditorium were resuming. "You mistake,—you are mine. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. Now go. ’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard.
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