"But may I venture to advise you?"
"Yes. What?"
"I'm sure you ought to go and see him, or at least write to him saying you'd like to see him."
"I know—I know—I must go. He'll forgive me; he must forgive me. But I wish it were over. I'm afraid you think me very cowardly. You will not say you have seen me. You promise me to say nothing."
Ulick gave her the required promise, and she asked him again to come to see her.
"I want you," she said, "to go through Isolde's music with me."
"Do you think I can tell you anything about the music you don't know already?"
"Yes, I think you can. You tell me things about myself that I did not know. I hardly knew that I acted as you describe in Margaret. I hope I did, for I seemed very good in your article. I read it over again this morning in bed. But tell me, did father come?"
"You must not press me to answer that question. My advice to you is to go and see your father. He will tell you what he thought of your singing if he came here.... The act is over," he said suddenly, and he seemed glad of the interruption. "I wonder what your Elizabeth will be like?"
"What do you think?"