"What a Sieglinde she would make, with her beautiful blond complexion and grand figure," returned the tenor with enthusiasm.
Tekla sighed for the third time that day. She burned to become a Wagner singer. Had she not been a successful elocutionist in Minnesota? How this talented young artist appreciated her gift, intuitively understood her ambition! Calcraft noted that they looked enough alike to be brother and sister; tall, fair and blue-eyed as they were. He laughed at the conceit.
"You are both of the Wölfing tribe," he roared and ordered beer of Magda. "I always drink dark beer after champagne, it settles the effervesence," he argued.
"You can always drink beer, before and after anything, Cal," said his wife in her sarcastic, vibrant voice.
The guest was hopelessly bored, but, being a man of will, he concentrated his attention upon himself and grew more resigned. He did not pretend to understand this rough-spoken critic, with his hatred of Wagner and his contradictory Teutonic tastes. Tekla with eyes full of beaming implications spoke:
"I should tell you, Cal, that Herr Viznina does not know, or else has forgotten, which paper you write for, and I let him guess. He thinks you praised his Siegmund."
"Saturday morning after the Tristan performance he will know for sure," answered the critic sardonically, drinking a stein of Würzburger.
"You rude man! of course he will know, and he will love you afterwards." If Calcraft had been near enough she would have tapped him playfully on the arm.
"Ah! Madame, what would we poor artists do if it were not for the ladies, the kind, sweet American ladies?"
"That's just it," cried Calcraft.