He was going to write the Introduction.
"And—the other things?"
"Oh, well, that's another matter. There's not much of it that'll stand."
He knew. He would never say more or less than he meant.
Not much of it that would stand. Now that she knew, it was extraordinary how little she minded.
"Still, there are a few things. They must come out first. In the spring. Then the Bacchae in the autumn. I want it to be clear from the start that you're a poet translating; not the other way on."
He walked home with her, discussing gravely how it would be done.
IV.
It had come without surprise, almost without excitement; the quiet happening of something secretly foreseen, present to her mind as long as she could remember.
"I always meant that this should happen: something like this."