You go to see pictures when you wish to." Mostyn did not notice the criticism on music itself, but added in a soft, disapproving way: "That man has no music in him.

Do you know that was one of Mendelssohn's delicious dreams.

This is how it should have been rendered," and he went impulsively to the piano and then the sweet monotonous cadences and melodious reveries slipped from his long white fingers till the whole room was permeated with a delicious sense of moonlit solitude and conversation was stilled in its languor.

The young man had played his own dismissal, but it was an effective one, and he complimented himself on his readiness to seize opportunities for display, and on his genius in satisfying them.
"I think I astonished them a little," he mused, "and I wonder what that pretty, cousin of mine thought of the music and the musician.

I fancy we shall be good friends; she is proud--that is no fault; and she has very decided opinions--which might be a great fault; but I think I rather astonished them." To such reflections he stepped rather pompously down the avenue, not at all influenced by any premonition that his satisfactory feelings might be imperfectly shared.