She had never seen the music before, though I believe she was not unacquainted with the melody, as she had heard him playing it by himself, and once heard, it was not easily forgotten.
They began the "Areopagita" suite, and at first all went well.

The tone of the violin, and also, I may say with no undue partiality, my brother's performance, were so marvellously fine that though our thoughts were elsewhere when, the music commenced, in a few seconds they were wholly engrossed in the melody, and we sat spellbound.

It was as if the violin had become suddenly endowed with life, and was singing to us in a mystical language more deep and awful than any human words.
Constance was comparatively unused to the figuring of the _basso continuo_, and found some trouble in reading it accurately, especially in manuscript; but she was able to mask any difficulty she may have had until she came to the _Gagliarda_.

Here she confessed to me her thoughts seemed against her will to wander, and her attention became too deeply riveted on her husband's performance to allow her to watch her own.
She made first one slight fault, and then growing nervous, another, and another.

Suddenly John stopped and said brusquely, "Let Sophy play, I cannot keep time with you." Poor Constance! The tears came swiftly to my own eyes when I heard him speak so thoughtlessly to her, and I was almost provoked to rebuke him openly.