Dorothea became silent. She did not understand him. She looked at him with a touch of distrust. She thought the mask was a picture of one of his old sweethearts. She made a mouth.
“You said something about playing at the party, Dorothea,” continued Daniel. “Do you realise that I never heard you play? I will frankly confess to you that heretofore I have been afraid to hear you. I could tolerate only the excellent; or the promise of excellence. You may show both; and yet, what is the cause of my fear? You have not practised in a long while; not once since we have been living together. And yet you wish to play in public? That is strange, Dorothea. Be so good as to get your violin and play a piece for me, won’t you?”
Dorothea went into the next room, got her violin case, came out, took the violin, and began to rub the bow with rosin. As she was tuning the A string, she lifted her eyebrows and said: “Do you really want me to play?”
She bit her lips and played an étude by Fiorillo. Having finished it but not having drawn a word of comment from Daniel, she again took up the violin and played a rather lamentable selection by Wieniawski.
Daniel maintained his silence for a long while. “Pretty good, Dorothea,” he said at last. “You have, other things being equal, a very pleasant pastime there.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dorothea with noticeable rapidity, a heavy blush colouring her cheeks.
“Is it anything more than that, Dorothea?”
“What do you mean?” she repeated, embarrassed and indignant. “I should think that my violin is more than a pastime.”
Daniel got up, walked over to her, took the bow gently from her hands, seized it by both ends, and broke it in two.
Dorothea screamed, and looked at him in hopeless consternation.