I thought that it was time for me to step into the battle.
"Mr. Doblana," I declared, "Mitzi is to sing Lady Macbeth in my opera."
"Mr. Cooper," he returned sharply, "Mitzi will do nothing of the sort."
"You forget that all has been arranged with the manager of the theatre."
"I forget? Really? Do I? What a bad memory I have. It is true. I forget. I even forget that I was consulted on behalf of my daughter. No, Mr. Cooper, I know Mitzi better than you do, better than anybody does, and I forbid her to go on the stage. She has not the moral force of her mother. She is as weak as her aunt was."
Mitzi had turned her back to us and was drumming on the window panes. I admired her once more—I cannot sufficiently repeat how pretty she was from ... behind, too.
"And, Mr. Doblana, if I beg of you to let her sing the Lady Macbeth, which I have written especially for her, if I beseech you to permit it?"
"I will say no. You would be the first to repent it. Mitzi has no moral strength. A girl who supports her father's enemies."
Mitzi turned sharply round.