The gong will go at seven-thirty. Now lend me your own hand. So I am already no longer the girl you knew at Morningside Park. Permit me to introduce myself. 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. I believe I’m in love. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle. Girls screamed in chorus. Now if you are ready to go with me, I too am ready.
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