"Oh, not now--by-and-by," said Gwendolen, with a sinking of heart at the sudden width of horizon opened round her small musical performance. For a lady desiring to lead, this first encounter in her campaign was startling. But she was bent on not behaving foolishly, and Miss Arrowpoint helped her by saying, "Yes, by-and-by. I always require half an hour to get up my courage after being criticised by Herr Klesmer. We will ask him to play to us now: he is bound to show us what is good music."
To be quite safe on this point Herr Klesmer played a composition of his own, a fantasia called _Freudvoll, Leidvoll, Gedankenvoll_--an extensive commentary on some melodic ideas not too grossly evident; and he certainly fetched as much variety and depth of passion out of the piano as that moderately responsive instrument lends itself to, having an imperious magic in his fingers that seem to send a nerve-thrill through ivory key and wooden hammer, and compel the strings to make a quivering lingering speech for him. Gwendolen, in spite of her wounded egoism, had fullness of nature enough to feel the power of this playing, and it gradually turned her inward sob of mortification into an excitement which lifted her for the moment into a desperate indifference about her own doings, or at least a determination to get a superiority over them by laughing at them as if they belonged to somebody else. Her eyes had become brighter, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her tongue ready for any mischievous remarks.

"Oh, not now. By-and-by," said Gwendolen, with a sinking heart. For a lady desiring to lead, this first encounter in her campaign was startling. But she was bent on not behaving foolishly, and Miss Arrowpoint helped her by saying,
"Yes, by-and-by. I always require half an hour to get up my courage after being criticised by Herr Klesmer. We will ask him to play to us now: he will show us what is good music."
To be quite safe on this point Herr Klesmer played a composition of his own; and he certainly fetched as much passion out of the piano as that instrument lends itself to, having an imperious magic in his fingers that drew a quivering lingering speech from the strings. Gwendolen, despite her wounded egoism, could feel the power of this playing, and it gradually turned her mortification into an excitement which lifted her for the moment into a desperate indifference to her own shortcomings, or at least a determination to laugh at them. Her eyes had become brighter, her cheeks flushed, and her tongue ready for any mischief.
