(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 études? 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 Döhler, 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.")