"Yes," I said. "We will have a holiday, after we are married, and that
will be in a fortnight's time. We will go to Devonshire, where the
heather is. But, my child, you will be wanting to sing again soon. It
is your life."
"No," she replied, "you are my life, aren't you?" And, after a pause:
"But perhaps singing is part of my life, too. Yes, I shall sing."
Then I left her for that night, and walked slowly back to my hotel.