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Let me recommend a glass of wine. But why do you ask?" "Because—" stammered the boy. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. 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 must have figured that out by now. She could not see clearly. “For better or worse.
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