Then he said, languidly, "I don't see why a lady should sing. Amateurs make fools of themselves. A lady can't risk herself in that way in company. And one doesn't want to hear squalling in private."
"I like frankness: that seems to me a husband's great charm," said Gwendolen, with her little upward movement of her chin, as she turned her eyes away from his, and lifting a prawn before her, looked at the boiled ingenuousness of its eyes as preferable to the lizard's. "But;" she added, having devoured her mortification, "I suppose you don't object to Miss Lapidoth's singing at our party on the fourth? I thought of engaging her. Lady Brackenshaw had her, you know: and the Raymonds, who are very particular about their music. And Mr. Deronda, who is a musician himself and a first-rate judge, says there is no singing in such good taste as hers for a drawing-room. I think his opinion is an authority."

"Though I don't see why a lady should sing. Amateurs make fools of themselves. One doesn't want to hear squalling in private."
"Frankness seems to me a husband's great charm," said Gwendolen, lifting a prawn before her, to look at the boiled ingenuousness of its eyes as preferable to the lizard's. "But I suppose you don't object to Miss Lapidoth's singing at our party on the fourth? I thought of engaging her. Lady Brackenshaw had her, you know. And Mr. Deronda, who is a first-rate judge, says there is no singing in such good taste as hers for a drawing-room. I think his opinion is an authority."
