But Herr Klesmer stood like a statue--if a statue can be imagined in spectacles; at least, he was as mute as a statue.

Gwendolen was pressed to keep her seat and double the general pleasure, and she did not wish to refuse; but before resolving to do so, she moved a little toward Herr Klesmer, saying with a look of smiling appeal, "It would be too cruel to a great musician.

You cannot like to hear poor amateur singing." "No, truly; but that makes nothing," said Herr Klesmer, suddenly speaking in an odious German fashion with staccato endings, quite unobservable in him before, and apparently depending on a change of mood, as Irishmen resume their strongest brogue when they are fervid or quarrelsome.

"That makes nothing.

It is always acceptable to see you sing." Was there ever so unexpected an assertion of superiority?
at least before the late Teutonic conquest?
Gwendolen colored deeply, but, with her usual presence of mind, did not show an ungraceful resentment by moving away immediately; and Miss Arrowpoint, who had been near enough to overhear (and also to observe that Herr Klesmer's mode of looking at Gwendolen was more conspicuously admiring than was quite consistent with good taste), now with the utmost tact and kindness came close to her and said-- "Imagine what I have to go through with this professor! He can hardly tolerate anything we English do in music.