Dominie. Indeed! that must have been very fine. Now, Miss, I beg—
Fatima. But, mamma, just say what I shall play.
Dominie. Is not your teacher here this evening? He will know best.
Aunt (whispers to Dominie). He is busy this evening, composing some grand bravoura variations, which are to be dedicated to Fatima on her eighteenth birthday, the day after to-morrow. You must come to see us on that day. Fatima will play them at sight.
Mrs. N. Fatima, don't hold back any longer. Play "The Huguenots" by Thalberg: that's a very fine piece.
Dominie. Pray do! I have not heard it since I heard Thalberg play it.
Aunt (to Dominie). Don't you make your daughters play it then? Oh, that magnificent choral! That brings tears to my eyes! But the dear child always takes it too fast: her fingers run away with her.
Mrs. N. Here it is. Please turn round so that you can see her hands, Mr. Dominie. You are such a famous teacher, perhaps you can make some suggestions. (I was expected only to admire.)
Dominie. I don't like to disturb her freedom in playing; but I will turn round, if you say so.