He laughed reassuringly. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. “John. "Surely," she said, after a pause, "you don't attach any importance to what my mother has just said. ” 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. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. If such a thing in connexion with him had been possible they would have declared that he was in a towering rage. She had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried.
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