open, as if in ironic rhapsody.

'Of what, dear?'

'What music do you think holds the best interpretation of sunset?'

His skin was gold, his real mood was intense. She revered him for a
moment.

'I do not know,' she said quietly; and she rested her head against his
shoulder, looking out west.

There was a space of silence, while Siegmund dreamed on.

'A Beethoven symphony--the one--' and he explained to her.

She was not satisfied, but leaned against him, making her choice. The
sunset hung steady, she could scarcely perceive a change.

'The Grail music in _Lohengrin_,' she decided.

'Yes,' said Siegmund. He found it quite otherwise, but did not trouble
to dispute. He dreamed by himself. This displeased her. She wanted him
for herself. How could he leave her alone while he watched the sky? She
almost put her two hands over his eyes.



_Chapter 4_