Annabel was in hiding all the time. She turned to the stage, and Tristan was wounded in Kurvenal’s arms, with Isolde at his feet, and King Mark, the incarnation of masculine force and obligation, the masculine creditor of love and beauty, stood over him, and the second climax was ending in wreaths and reek of melodies; and then the curtain was coming down in a series of short rushes, the music had ended, and the people were stirring and breaking out into applause, and the lights of the auditorium were resuming. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. Hill was seated. He had chosen his time well. But did any woman get anything better from a man? Perhaps every woman conceals herself from a man perforce!. ” “Oh, Drummond’s dinner!” she repeated.
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