“Not in Germany,” she pleaded, thinking of Ziegler.
“Yes, in Germany,” said Musa masterfully. “I have a reputation to make. It is the agent who has suggested it.”
“But the concerts in London?”
“You are English. I wish not to wound you.”
When Audrey stood up again, she had to look at the floor in order to make sure that it was there. Once she had tasted absinthe. She had had to take the same precaution then.
“Stop! I entreat thee!” said Musa suddenly, just as, all arrayed in her finery, she was opening the door for the walk.
“What is it?”
He kissed her, and with his lips almost on hers he murmured:
“Thou shalt not go out without avowing. And if thou art angry—well, I adore thy anger. The concerts were ... thy enterprise? I guessed well?”
“You see,” she replied like a shot, “you weren’t sure, although you pretended you were.”