“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.
“Yes, yes,” he repeated, “I must have you do that, Sylvia. I don’t care what Hermann wants or what you want. I want it.”
“Yes, but who’s to do the playing and the singing?” asked Hermann. “Isn’t it a question, perhaps, for--”
Michael felt quite secure about the feelings of the other two, and rudely interrupted.
“No,” he said. “It’s a question for me. When the Fatherland hears that I am there it will no doubt ask me to play and sing instead of you two. Lord! Fancy marrying into such a distinguished family. I burst with pride!”
