"Of course, fire ahead."
"Well, if I were you, I'd first get the quintette really finished. It can't want much doing to it now."
"Not much, and yet ... besides, you mustn't forget that I've started all kinds of other things lately. The two pianoforte pieces, then the orchestra scherzo—I've already got pretty far with that. But it certainly ought to be made part of a symphony."
Anna made no answer. George noticed that her thoughts were roving, and he asked her where she had run away to this time.
"Not so far," she replied; "it only just passed through my mind what a lot of things can happen before the opera is really ready."
"Yes," said George slowly, with a slight trace of embarrassment. "If one could just look into the future."
She sighed quite softly and he pressed her nearer to him, almost as though he pitied her. "Don't worry, my darling, don't worry," he said. "I am here all right, and I always shall be here." He thought he felt what she was thinking; can't he say anything better than that?... anything stronger? anything to take away all my fear—take it away from me for ever? And he asked her disingenuously, as though conscious of running a risk: "What are you thinking of?" And as she was obstinately silent he said once more: "Anna, what are you thinking of?"
"Something very strange," she answered gently.
"What is it?"
"That the house is already built, where it will come into the world—that we have no idea where ... that is what I couldn't help thinking of."