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. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. A discreet husband would leave the dispensation of his bounty, where women are concerned, to his wife. I went to the theatre that night. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether.
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