Immediately after, she remembered that she had vowed in church that she would ask Owen to marry her.  Owen would say yes at once, he would want to marry her at the end of the week; and once she was married, she would have to leave the stage.  She would not be able to play Isolde....  But she knew the part! it would seem silly to give up the stage on the eve of her appearance in the part.  It would be such a disappointment to so many people.  All London was looking forward to seeing her sing Isolde.  Mr. Hermann Goetze, what would he say?  He would be entitled to compensation.  A nice sum Owen would have to pay for the pleasure of marrying her.  If she were to pay the indemnity—­could she?  It would absorb all her savings.  More than all.  She did not think she could have saved more than six or seven thousand pounds.  The manager might claim twenty.  Her thoughts merged into vague calculations regarding the value of her jewellery....  Even Owen would not care to pay twenty thousand pounds so that he might marry her this season instead of next.  Next year she was going to sing Kundry!  Her face tightened in expression, and a painful languor seemed to weaken and ruin all her tissues.  He might ask her why she had so suddenly determined to accept what she had often avoided, put aside, postponed.  She would have to give some reason.  If she didn’t, he would suspect—­what would he suspect?  That she was in love with Ulick?

She might tell Owen that she wished to be married on account of scruples of conscience.  But she had better not speak of Monsignor.  Any mention of a priest was annoying to him.  In that respect he was even more arbitrary, more violent than ever.  But a sudden desire to see him arose in her, and she told the coachman to drive to Berkeley Square.

The trees wore their first verdure, and there was a melody among the boughs, and she took pleasure in the graceful female figure pouring water from the long-necked ewer.  She lay back in her carriage, imitating the lady she had seen six years ago, regretting that she would not know her if she were to meet her; she might be one of her present friends.

Owen’s house had been freshly painted that spring, its balcony was full of flowers chosen by herself, and arranged according to her taste ... and a pleasant look of recognition lit up in the eyes of the footmen in the hall, and the butler, whom Evelyn remembered since the first day she came to Berkeley Square, was sorry indeed that Sir Owen was out.  But he was sure that Sir Owen would not be long.  Would she wait in Sir Owen’s room, or would she like lunch to be served at once?  She said she would wait in Sir Owen’s room, and she walked across the hall, smiling at the human nature of the servants’ admiration.  If their master had a mistress, they were glad that he had one they could boast about.  And picking up two songs by Schubert, and hoping she was in good voice, she sat down at the piano and sang them.  Then, half aware that she was singing unusually well, she sang another.  The third song she sang so beautifully that Owen stood on the threshold loth to interrupt her, and when she got up from the piano he said—­