But it was impossible to remark upon it. She plunged into the financial side of the question.
“So somebody has been paying three guineas a week for me?” (And she thought: “Whoever is it?”)
“Certainly. You don’t imagine Razounov would give lessons for nothing, do you?”
“That is to say, you wouldn’t give lessons for nothing, isn’t it?”
“Certainly. I am not a philanthropist. I have other interests besides music. Music is only my way of getting a living. I never even reduce my fees except—except—well——”
“Yes?—except when?”
He turned away his head as he replied: “Except in cases where the pupil has no money yet supreme musical genius.”
She flared up passionately.
“Look here,” she said, “why d’you keep on rubbing it in? How do you know I shan’t be a great pianist? I say, how do you know? I tell you, I don’t believe you. You wait; you’ll see me at the top before long. And then you’ll have to eat your words. You’re got a good opinion of yourself, haven’t you? Well, so have I. See? ... And I tell you I will get to the top! I’ll show you you’re wrong! See?”
“I hope you will,” he said quietly. And added: “I’m glad my criticism doesn’t discourage you. It isn’t meant to.”