"Ah yes, then if mademoiselle will," he said blandly.
He produced music.
Mabel was rooted with fear to the couch. Never in her life before had she been nervous.
"Jean, how could you," whispered she.
Oh, fortune and the best of luck! He turned to a song of Brahms'. How often had Mabel tried to drum that song into the willing but uncultured Robin! That Robin in his lame way should help her now seemed the funniest freak of fate. She played the first bars hopefully, joyfully. She knew she couldn't do anything silly there.
"But what!"
Herr Slavska had caught her by the shoulders, and looked in her eyes.
"Mademoiselle Mabel! From ze country! Mademoiselle plays like zat! Hn?"
He bowed grandly.
"My apologies, Mees Mademoiselle Mabel. We vill haf a rehearsal."