“Yes, we have, really; and I think I was a bit of a brute.”
He rambled in explanations, which I punctuated with “Dear, dear.” Carrie laid her hand on my sleeve, and I turned to her.
“Rol,” she whispered, “do send Arthur for some coffee. I want to talk to you.”
Arthur was despatched to find a waiter, and I attended Carrie’s pleasure while she twisted her fingers nervously through the opera-glasses.
“Rol,” she said, “I’m so unhappy.”
“The Wings of Sorrow have brushed your life and left it an Arid Waste,” I replied sententiously, hugely amused. She didn’t divine the raillery.
“But surely, Rol, the heart is ripened through suffering,” she replied unconsciously.
“Yes,” I replied. “The Separation of Souls is not Eternal. Those we love are severed from us in the flesh, but in Heaven——”
She looked suspiciously, but my face was very grave. The waiter appeared with coffee, and Arthur resumed his seat, this time without apology. He was anxious to make it up, but I didn’t offer him my seat. I wanted to see the particular kind of finesse he would adopt, so lay low and watched him.
The music recommenced, and Caroline, by some inattentiveness, retained her coffee cup, which I believe she mentally identified with Isolde’s love potion. Bassishaw was revolving ways and means, but the cup hint was not obvious to him. Isolde began the Liebestod song, while the head of the Vaaagnerite beyond Arthur was sunk in his hands, possibly not to see the corpulent heroine, whose presence was somewhat disturbing to the music. The Wagner hush was over all.