ravished, rapt away.

'Wagner was a great artist in spite of himself,' said Diaz, when he had
finished. 'He assigned definite and precise ideas to all those melodies.
Nothing could be more futile. I shall not label them for you. But perhaps
you can guess the love-motive for yourself.'

'Yes, I can,' I said positively. 'It is this.'

I tried to hum the theme, but my voice refused obedience. So I came to
the piano, and played the theme high up in the treble, while Diaz was
still sitting on the piano-stool. I trembled even to touch the piano in
his presence; but I did it.

'You have guessed right,' he said; and then he asked me in a casual tone:
'Do you ever play pianoforte duets?'

'Often,' I replied unsuspectingly, 'with my aunt. We play the symphonies
of Beethoven, Mozart, Schubert, Haydn, and overtures, and so on.'

'Awfully good fun, isn't it?' he smiled.

'Splendid!' I said.

'I've got _Tristan_ here arranged for pianoforte duet,' he said.
'Tony, my secretary, enjoys playing it. You shall play part of the
second act with me.'

'Me! With you!'