“No, unfortunately. You see I only met him on Saturday, and as I came away this morning we had to rush every second as hard as we could in order to become acquainted at all.”
“What fun to know him! He’s going to be so tremendously famous, they say; did you know that?”
“So they told me there.”
“And he plays in such a wonderful manner, too. What a pity he didn’t play for you. Don’t you love a violin, anyhow?”
“I don’t know,” said Rosina thoughtfully; “I think that I like a flute best, but I always think whenever I see a man playing on a violin that the attitude ought to develop very affectionate tendencies in him.”
“What kind of a fellow was he to talk to? Was he agreeable?”
“Most of the American men didn’t like him, I believe,” said Rosina; then she added, “but most of the American men never like any foreigners, you know, unless it’s the Englishmen, perhaps.”
“But what did you think of him?”
“I thought he was very queer; and he got the better of me all the time.”
“That ought to have made you hate him.”