” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. Brendon. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. If by any chance I have made a mistake a word will bring me to you. They all left the room. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. Find them at Remenham House—if you can. “May I enquire,” he asked smoothly, “in what way my appearance contributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like to share it.
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