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.
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