"Fool!" muttered Lady Winsleigh to herself, apostrophizing "Lennie" in this uncomplimentary manner. "Fool! I wonder if he thinks I care! He may play hired lacquey to all the women in London if he likes! He looks a prig compared to Philip!"
And her gaze wandered,--Philip was standing by his wife, engaged in an animated conversation with Lord Winsleigh. They were all near the grand piano--and Lady Clara, smoothing her vexed brow, swept her ruby velvets gracefully up to that quarter of the room. Before she could speak, the celebrated Herr Machtenklinken confronted her with some sternness.
"Your ladyshib vill do me ze kindness to remember," he said, loftily, "zat I am here to blay! Zere has been no obbortunity--ze biano could not make itself to be heard in zis fery moch noise. It is bossible your ladyshib shall require not ze music zis efening? In zat case I shall take my fery goot leave."
Lady Winsleigh raised her eyes with much superciliousness.
"As you please," she said coolly. "If you are so indifferent to your advantages--then all I can say is, so am I! You are, perhaps, known on the Continent, Herr Machtenklinken,--but not here--and I think you ought to be more grateful for my influence."
So saying, she passed on, leaving the luckless pianist in a state of the greatest indignation.
"Gott in Himmel!" he gasped, in a sort of infuriated sotto voce. "Ze Emberor himself would not have speak to me so! I come here as a favor--her ladyshib do not offer me one pfenning,--ach! ze music is not for such beoble! I shall brefer to blay to bigs! Zere is no art in zis country!--"
And he began to make his way out of the room, when he was overtaken by Beau Lovelace, who had followed him in haste.
"Where are you off to, Hermann?" he asked good-naturedly. "We want you to play. There is a lady here who heard you in Paris quite recently--she admires you immensely. Won't you come and be introduced to her?"
Herr Machtenklinken paused, and a smile softened his hitherto angry countenance.
"You are fery goot, Mr. Lofelace," he remarked--"and I would do moch for you--but her ladyshib understands me not--she has offend me--it is better I should take my leave."
"Oh, bother her ladyship!" said Beau lightly. "Come along, and give us something in your best style."
So saying, he led the half-reluctant artist back to the piano, where he was introduced to Thelma, who gave him so sweet a smile that he was fairly dazzled.