, she, Gwendolen, was not going to be disappointed: the affair was a
joke whichever way it turned, for she had never committed herself even by a
silent confidence in anything Mr. Grandcourt would do. Still, she noticed that
he did sometimes quietly and gradually change his position according to hers, so
that he could see her whenever she was dancing, and if he did not admire her -
so much the worse for him.
    This movement for the sake of being in sight of her was more direct than
usual rather late in the evening, when Gwendolen had accepted Klesmer as a
partner; and that wide-glancing personage, who saw everything and nothing by
turns, said to her when they were walking, »Mr. Grandcourt is a man of taste. He
likes to see you dancing.«
    »Perhaps he likes to look at what is against his taste,« said Gwendolen,
with a light laugh: she was quite courageous with Klesmer now. »He may be so
tired of admiring that he likes disgust for a variety.«
    »Those words are not suitable to your lips,« said Klesmer, quickly, with one
of his grand frowns, while he shook his hand as if to banish the discordant
sounds.
    »Are you as critical of words as of music?«
    »Certainly I am. I should require your words to be what your face and form
are - always among the meanings of a noble music.«
    »That is a compliment as well as a correction. I am obliged for both. But do
you know I am bold enough to wish to correct you, and require you to understand
a joke?«
    »One may understand jokes without liking them,« said the terrible Klesmer.
»I have had opera books sent me full of jokes; it was just because I understood
them that I did not like them. The comic people are ready to challenge a man
because he looks grave. You don't see the witticism, sir? No, sir, but I see
what you meant. Then I am what we call ticketed as a fellow without esprit. But,
in fact,« said Klesmer, suddenly dropping from his quick narrative to a
reflective tone, with an impressive frown, »I am very sensible to wit and
humour.«
    »I am glad you tell me that,« said Gwendolen, not without some wickedness of
intention. But Klesmer's thoughts had flown off on the wings of his own
statement, as their habit was, and she had the wickedness all to herself. »Pray,
who
