“That is dear of you. And you must come out with the children and be with us a great deal, both for Hugh’s sake and mine. Oh, Peggy, Hugh mustn’t get bored, and I don’t see how to help it. He mustn’t stop with me out there after the ice goes. I can’t cut into his life like that. Ah! well—one needn’t think about that yet. And, my dear, if ever you see me faltering and being cowardly or despondent or ungrateful, try not to notice it. It won’t be me: it will be these nasty little insects. I shall be doing my best! I promise you that. And that is all, I think.”
Again she held out her hands for Peggy, but that would not do for Peggy.
“Ah! you mustn’t kiss me,” cried Edith. “I promised not to kiss anybody.”
But Peggy clung to her.
“Thank God for people like you!” she said.
Hugh was to arrive (and did so) next day, for he and his wife were starting from town the morning after for Munich, and he arrived rather in the manner of a loquacious whirlwind in the middle of lunch. He greeted neither Peggy nor Edith, but waved a telegraphic form at them.
“I’ve got to say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ at once!” he cried. “It was handed to me at the station at Mannington, but I couldn’t reply before I saw you, Edith, as Munich is your treat. Burgmann is ill, and they ask if I will sing ‘Tristan’ on Monday week in his place. Yes, at Munich, of course, I said so. Heavens! Do you grasp the inwardness of this sacred fact? An Englishman asked to sing ‘Tristan’ in Germany, to the high ge-born Tedeschi! Lord, what fun! I shall go mad, as Mr. Tree said. But how frightfully chic it would be to say ‘No.’ Yes, chicken, please.”
He sat down and turned to Edith.
“It’s our last evening there,” he said, “and it’s the last performance of the cycle. Which shall we do? Shall we sing, or shall we see? I want you to settle.”
Edith took the prepaid form which Hugh had been waving about with the other.