“No; there is something more,” he said. “What about my pulling you away? Oh, Edith, that is an instance, I am sure, of what I said to you the other day! You stand there shining above me. What was there in your mind that I didn’t understand? Tell me, explain to me.”
“But there is nothing to explain,” said she, laughing. “It is only that you went off above my head, you dear rocket, before I expected it, while I lingered down below, still thinking how wonderful it was that we both felt that I had been Elsa. It was only that; I didn’t expect all the coloured stars. Here we are at home. By the way, Hugh, you sang quite nicely to-night. I forgot to tell you. I think that unless I get some very pleasant invitation for next Wednesday, I shall come and hear you sing Tristan. Yet I don’t know. It does begin so dreadfully early, and I hate dining early.”
“I wouldn’t think of coming if I were you,” remarked he.
Hugh, of course, had not dined before the opera, and flew ravenously to supper. Edith’s remarks had reassured him, but she was not quite sure that they had reassured herself. She felt that something was just a little wrong, else she could not have been so startled at his transition into the boyish spirits that were, after all, just as characteristic of him as was his perception with regard to Elsa.
That was he; all that intense vividness of feeling and sudden change of mood meant “Hugh” to her. All his performance that night had been on his top level, and no less was it top level that made him shout the fun of it. Naturally (it would have been unnatural if it was not so) every nerve and fibre had been screwed up, and all his perceptions, whichever way he looked, were at concert pitch. Among them was the sheer joie de vivre, the fun of it, the skyscraping spirits, the irresistible nonsense. Yet to that she knew she had not responded; it had startled her, and, in a way, it had given her a shock. Genuinely and whole-heartedly he had felt how close they had come to each other by virtue of his supreme art, and it was no transition to him to proclaim the fun of it immediately afterwards. But it had been a shock to her. She was not shining above him, then; it was he who shone above her. He was moving there in a light which flooded the mountain tops, but did not reach her in the valley.
Yet the matter did not just now trouble her—she joined him in a hilarious supper. She had glorious things also to say to him; first there was the request that he would sing for the Israelitish banker at “Melba prices.” Also Miss Tremington had inquired about “the master’s play-acting,” and had been told that the master acted very nicely, considering it was his first time. The master was going to act again next Wednesday, and if Miss Tremington cared to go to the upper circle, why, her mistress would give her a seat there. But she must apply for her seat to-morrow morning; lots of people wanted to hear the master sing, and perhaps there might be no seats left.
“Oh, Hugh, how heavenly!” said Edith. “Think of Miss Tremington in the upper circle looking at you as Tristan! She will say that the master looked very pale in the last act, and why didn’t he marry the lady? ‘And I didn’t understand about Cornwall, ma’am,’ she will say.”
Hugh choked suddenly, and could only wave his hands for a moment.
“And you won’t be there to explain it to her,” he said, when he could speak. “Yes, I suppose I have eaten and drunk enough. Oh, it’s after one! But if you think I am going to bed without smoking—why, you are wrong.”
“Oh, but Tristan!” she said.