(Fatima scurries through the piece excitedly, and plays in a bold way,—­not, however, without ability, but with a feeble touch, without proper fingering, without tone, without time; and gets over the first two pages, with her foot always on the pedal, in such a senseless, indistinct manner that Dominie, in despair, was forced to interrupt with the remark, “But you might take the tempo_ a little more quietly."_)

     (Fatima leans back amazed, and stops playing, looking at her
     mother with a contemptuous expression.)

AUNT.  It is owing to her great execution, and then, too, her youthful enthusiasm.  Don’t you like her natural expression?

FATIMA.  My teacher always makes me play it so.  It is in that way that I have learned to play so much at sight.

DOMINIE.  But don’t you study your pieces?

FATIMA.  For the last four years I have played only at sight, so that now
I can get on anywhere in the musical clubs.  That is what mamma likes.

DOMINIE.  But do you not play any scales and etudes? do you not practise any exercises?

AUNT.  She has not done those things for the last four years.  My sister thinks it is rather a hindrance, and is too pedantic.  Her teacher thinks so too, and he teaches her the fine concert pieces of Doehler, Liszt, Dreyschock, Willmer, and Thalberg.  She learns execution by these.  She has gone through all Thalberg’s music; and we have sent to Leipzig for Willmer’s “Pompa di Festa.”

DOMINIE.  All this shows great enthusiasm, but really a little too much hot haste.

     (Dominie wishes to continue the conversation, in order to escape
     the unpleasant necessity of “turning round to the piano.")

MRS. N. (interrupts).  My child, just begin again at the beginning, and let us enjoy the whole of “The Huguenots.”  Mr. Dominie likes it.

     (Fatima consents, and hurries through the whole Potpourri with a
     confident, conceited air, to the great despair of Dominie.  At the
     choral, the aunt taps him on the shoulder, and whispers.)

AUNT.  Is not that touching?  It is a little too fast, you will agree; but then the execution!  Has not the girl a great deal of talent?  Just hear!

* * * * *

But what did Dominie say after the performance was over?  He only bowed stiffly, and what he said to himself will always remain a secret.  He only felt.

They go in to supper.  All who submitted to hearing the daughter perform on the badly tuned piano, which was at least a tone and a half too low, were invited to supper and handsomely treated.  The wine was better than the piano.  Presently the teacher, Mr. Feeble, having finished his birthday bravoura composition, appeared and was introduced.  Fatima whispered to him, giggling, “I played the whole of ‘The Huguenots;’ it went splendidly.”  Mr. Feeble simpered.  Dominie and he talked together, unheard, at the end of the table.