"Not so great as alluring. Yes, she is great if compared with any English or American actress." His dark eyes glowed. He almost became animated. Easter listened with curiosity. A man who spoke with such surety was somebody. Who was this Mr. Stone? She tried him with a touch of flattery.
"You must have seen a lot of actresses to pass such a judgment." He became quite languid.
"Miss Brandès, I am a critic of the theatre and music." She eagerly responded:
"A critic of music. How nice." His depression increased.
"What's nice about it?" he asked in a sullen tone.
"Oh, to hear all the great singers and players."
"You mean, to be forced to hear a lot of mediocrities. Even the great ones, Lilli Lehmann, Brandt, the De Reszkes, get on my nerves. You can have too much of a good thing my dear young lady." She became still more absorbed.
"Now, tell me. What are you after?" he demanded in kindly fashion.
"I mean to be a great dramatic soprano," she confidently asserted.
"Aha!" he vouchsafed. "Rather a modest programme."