Still Klesmer did not speak. He drew off his gloves quickly, tossed them into his hat, rested his hands on his hips, and walked to the other end of the room. He was filled with compassion for this girl: he wanted to put a guard on his speech. When he turned again, he looked at her with a mild frown of inquiry, and said with gentle though quick utterance, "You have never seen anything, I think, of artists and their lives?--I mean of musicians, actors, artists of that kind?"
"Oh, no," said Gwendolen, not perturbed by a reference to this obvious fact in the history of a young lady hitherto well provided for.
"You are--pardon me," said Klesmer, again pausing near the piano--"in coming to a conclusion on such a matter as this, everything must be taken into consideration--you are perhaps twenty?"
"I am twenty-one," said Gwendolen, a slight fear rising in her. "Do you think I am too old?"
Klesmer pouted his under lip and shook his long fingers upward in a manner totally enigmatic.
"Many persons begin later than others," said Gwendolen, betrayed by her habitual consciousness of having valuable information to bestow.

Still Klesmer did not speak. He drew off his gloves, tossed them into his hat, and walked to the other end of the room, filled with compassion for this girl: he wanted to guard his speech. When he turned again, he looked at her with a mild frown of inquiry, and said gently, "You have never seen anything, I think, of actors and their lives?"
"Oh, no," said Gwendolen.
"You are - pardon me," said Klesmer, "but you are perhaps twenty?"
"I am twenty-one," said Gwendolen, a slight fear rising in her. "Do you think I am too old? Many persons begin later than others."
