. Nugent looked quickly at her. "That is very clever of you. You
have touched on his great difference from Father. He is awfully
impatient."

All this did Lucy a great deal of good. James thought that she had
better call on Mrs. Nugent. He knew all about her.

CHAPTER VIII

AGAIN

The second time was in late February, at the Opera: the _Walkuere_, of
all operas in the world, where passion of the suddenest is seen on its
most radiant spring morning. James, who was dreadfully bored by
Wagner, and only went because it was the thing to do, and truly also
because "a man must be seen with his wife," could not promise to be
there, dressed, at such an unearthly hour as half-past six--James, I
say, did not go with her, but vowed to be there "long before seven."
That he undertook. So she went alone, and sat, as she always did, half
hidden behind the curtain of her box on the second tier.

The place was flooded with dark. The great wonder began--the amazing
prelude with its brooding, its surmisals, its storms, its pounding
hooves remorselessly pursuing, and flashes of the horn, like the blare
of lightning. She surrendered herself, and as the curtain rose settled
down to drink with the eyes as well as with the ears; for she was no
musician, and could only be deeply moved by this when she saw and
heard. It immediately absorbed her; the music "of preparation and
suspense" seemed to turn her bones to liquor--and at this moment she
again felt herself possessed by man's love: the strong hand over her
heart, the passion of his hold, the intoxication of the kiss. To the
accompaniment of shrill and wounded violins she yielded herself to
this miracle of the dark. She seemed to hear in a sharp whisper, "You
darling!" She half turned, she half swooned again, she drank, and she
gave to drink. The music speared up to the heights of bliss, then
subsided as the hold on her relaxed. When she stretched out her hand
for her lover's, he was not near her. She was alone. The swift and
poignant little drama may have lasted a minute; but like a dream it
had the suggestion of infinity about it, transcending time as it
defied place. Confused, bemused, she turned her attention to the
stage, determined to compose herself at all cost. She sat very still,
and shivered; she gave all her powers to her mind, and succeeded by
main effort. Insensibly the great drama doing down there resumed its
hold; and it was even with a slight shock that she became