"Considering? That sounds a doubtful compliment."
"I mean, English people as a rule have not much understanding for dramatic music."
"Yes, they have!" Nora blazed out impulsively.
"Have they?"
Still seething with injured patriotism, she met the laughter in his eyes with defiance. Then her sense of humour got the better of her.
"No, they haven't," she admitted frankly.
"There, now you are honest! Have you tried Tristan for the first time?"
Nora nodded. She had gone back to the piano and was turning over the leaves of the score with nervous fingers. For some reason which she never attempted to fathom, Wolff von Arnim's entries into her life, seldom and fleeting as they had been hitherto, had always brought with them a subtle, indescribable change in herself and in her surroundings. There were times when she was almost afraid of him and welcomed his departure. Then, again, when he was gone she was sorry that she had been so foolish, and looked forward to their next meeting.
"I have tried to read the first act before," she said, "but it is so hard. I can make so little out of it. I am sure it all sounds poor and confused compared to the real thing."
"Your piano score is inadequate," he said, coming to her side. "The duet arrangement is much better. Hildegarde and I used to play it together for hours."