“Now, what sort of issue might be fairly expected from all this self-denial? You would ask that. It is right that your eyes should be open to it. I will tell you truthfully. This issue would be uncertain, and, most probably, would not be worth much.”
At these relentless words Klesmer put out his lip and looked through his spectacles with the air of a monster impenetrable by beauty.
Gwendolen’s eyes began to burn, but the dread of showing weakness urged her to added self-control. She compelled herself to say, in a hard tone,
“You think I want talent, or am too old to begin.”
Klesmer made a sort of hum, and then descended on an emphatic “Yes! The desire and the training should have begun seven years ago—or a good deal earlier. A mountebank’s child who helps her father to earn shillings w
