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Gueldmar laughed. "Well, not quite!" he admitted candidly, "there's not
enough muscle about you. I confess I like to see strong fellows--fellows
fit to rule the planet on which they are placed. That's my whim!--but
you're a neat little chap enough, and I dare say you can hold your own!"
And his eyes twinkled good-temperedly as he filled himself another glass
of his host's fine Burgundy, and drank it off, while Duprez, with a
half-plaintive, half-comical shrug of resignation to Gueldmar's verdict
on his personal appearance, asked Thelma if she would favor them with a
song. She rose from her seat instantly, without any affected hesitation,
and went to the piano. She had a delicate touch, and accompanied herself
with great taste,--but her voice, full, penetrating, rich and true,--was
one of the purest and most sympathetic ever possessed by woman, and its
freshness was unspoilt by any of the varied "systems" of torture
invented by singing-masters for the ingenious destruction of the
delicate vocal organ.


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