” Her father’s irony deepened. Wood had been my father, as well as yours. ’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. 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. Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest.
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