"Be patient, Felician. In three or five years, when I have my opera finished...." He spoke in an ironical tone.
"Are you really writing an opera, George?"
"I am beginning one shortly."
"Who is doing the libretto for you?"
"Heinrich Bermann. Of course you scowl again."
"My dear George, I have always been very far from lecturing you in any way about the people you associate with. It is quite natural that you with your intellectual tastes should live in a different set and mix with different people to those I do, people whom I should probably find rather less to my taste. But so long as Herr Bermann's libretto is good you have my blessing ... and Herr Bermann, of course, too."
"The libretto is not ready yet, only the scenario."
Felician could not help laughing. "So that's how your opera stands! I only hope the theatre is already built at which you are going to get a post as conductor."
"Come, come," said George, somewhat hurt.
"Forgive me," replied Felician, "I have not really any doubts about your future. I should only like you yourself to do a bit more towards it. I really should be so ... proud, George, if you were to do anything great, and it, I'm sure, only depends on yourself. Willy Eissler, who is a man of genuine musical gifts, told me again only the other day that he thinks more of you than of most of the young composers."