“I probably intrude,” he said, “but such is my intention.  I’ve just seen Lady Barbara, who says that the shock has not been too much for Mike’s father.  That is a good thing; she says he is taking nourishment much as usual.  I suppose I oughtn’t to jest on so serious a subject, but I took my cue from Lady Barbara.  It appears that we have blue blood too, Sylvia, and we must behave more like aristocrats.  A Tracy in the time of King John flirted, if no more, with a Comber.  And what about your career, Sylvia?  Are you going to continue to urge your wild career, or not?  I ask with a purpose, as Blackiston proposes we should give a concert together in the third week in July.  The Queen’s Hall is vacant one afternoon, and he thinks we might sing and play to them.  I’m on if you are.  It will be about the last concert of the season, too, so we shall have to do our best.  Otherwise we, or I, anyhow, will start again in the autumn with a black mark.  By the way, are you going to start again in the autumn?  It wouldn’t surprise me one bit to hear that you and Mike had been talking about just that.”

“Don’t be too clever to live, Hermann,” said Sylvia.

“I don’t propose to die, if you mean that.  Oh, Blackiston had another suggestion also.  He wanted to know if we would consider making a short tour in Germany in the autumn.  He says that the beloved Fatherland is rather disposed to be interested in us.  He thinks we should have good audiences at Leipzig, and so on.  There’s a tendency, he says, to recognise poor England, a cordial intention, anyhow.  I said that in your case there might be domestic considerations which—­But I think I shall go in any case.  Lord, fancy playing in Germany to Germans again.  Fancy being listened to by a German audience; fancy if they approved.”

Michael leaned forward, putting his elbow into Hermann’s chest.  Early December had already been mentioned as a date for their marriage, and as a pre-nuptial journey, this seemed to him a plan ecstatically ideal.

“Yes, Sylvia,” he said.  “The answer is yes.  I shall come with you, you know.  I can see it; a triumphal procession, you two making noises, and me listening.  A month’s tour, Hermann.  Middle of October till middle of November.  Yes, yes.”

All his tremendous pride in her singing, dormant for the moment under the wonder of his love, rose to the surface.  He knew what her singing meant to her, and, from their conversation together just now, how keen was her eagerness for the strict judgment of those who knew, how she loved that austere pinnacle of daylight.  Here was an ideal opportunity; never yet, since she had won her place as a singer, had she sung in Germany, that Mecca of the musical artist, and in her case, the land from which she sprung.  Had the scheme implied a postponement of their marriage, he would still have declared himself for it, for he unerringly felt for her in this; he knew intuitively what delicious beckoning this held for her.