Meanwhile, the pilgrims’ song grew more strenuous, until at last the trombones proclaimed, in unconquerable tones, Tannhaeuser’s abjuration of sensual life, and at that moment the tall, spare figure of Mr. Hermann Goetze, the manager, appeared in the doorway leading to the stalls.  He was with his apparitor and satellite, Mr. Wheeler, a foppish little man, who seemed pleased at being in confidential conversation with his great chief.  Catching sight of Evelyn in the box just above his eyes, he smiled and bowed obsequiously.  A sudden thought seemed to strike him, and Evelyn said to herself, “He’s coming to talk with me about the Brangaene.  I hope he has done what I told him, and engaged Helbrun for the part.”

At the same moment it flashed across her mind that Mademoiselle Helbrun’s unsuccessful appearance in “Carmen” might cause Mr. Harmann Goetze to propose someone else.  She hoped that this was not so, for she could not consent to sing Isolde to anyone but Helbrun’s Brangaene, and it was in this resolute, almost aggressive, frame of mind that she received the manager.

“How do you do, Mr. Hermann Goetze?  Well, I hope you succeeded in inducing Mademoiselle Helbrun to play Brangaene?”

“I have not had a moment, Miss Innes.  I have not seen Mademoiselle Helbrun since last night.  You will be sorry to hear that her Carmen was not considered a success....  Do you think—­”

“There is no finer artist than Mademoiselle Helbrun.  If you do not engage her—­”

Mr. Hermann Goetze took his handkerchief from his pocket, and, upon inquiry, she learnt that he was suffering from toothache.  Mr. Wheeler advised different remedies, but Mr. Hermann Goetze did not believe in remedies.  There was nothing for it but to have it out.  Evelyn suggested her dentist, and Mr. Hermann Goetze apologised for this interruption in the conversation.  He begged of her not to think of him, and they entered into the difficult question of salary.  He told her that Mademoiselle Helbrun would ask eighty pounds a performance, and such heavy salary added to the four hundred pounds a performance he was paying for the Tristan and Isolde would—­But so intense was the pain from his tooth at this moment that he could not finish the sentence.  A little alarmed, Evelyn waited until the spasm had ended, and when the manager’s composure was somewhat restored, she spoke of the change and stress of emotion, often expressed in isolated notes and vehement declamation, and she reminded the poor man of Brangaene’s long song in which she endeavours to appease Isolde.  Mr. Hermann Goetze looked at her out of pain-stricken eyes, and said he was listening.  She assured him that the melodious effect would be lost if Brangaene could not sing the long-drawn phrases in a single breath.  But she stopped suddenly, perceiving that an aesthetic discussion was impossible with a man who was in violent pain.  Mr. Wheeler proposed to go to the chemist for a remedy.