"I was playing as fast as you were tapping," she informed him simply, not as an excuse for her failure or an accusation, but to let him know his time-keeping had a lot more influence over her own ability to set pace than he apparently realized. She couldn't quite tune it out, and attempting to tap her own foot at a different rate only confused her. But at least he had slowed down, and she had a much easier time the second play-through. It was still rough, but she had managed most of the notes and even continued on to the next couple measures until she noticed she'd gone past where he had stopped.
It was obvious which chords were giving her trouble, and instead of asking for help with them, she waited for the corrections and criticism he was bound to give prompted or not.
"Oh, I guess it's been awhile since I've had a lovely evening," she admitted without much enthusiasm, already doubting there would be much lovely about it. Knowing better than to mistake his inclusion of her at the party as anything but proving a point, Mabelle wondered what she was getting herself dragged into. It really wasn't a comfortable position, but she didn't mind all that much that he was using her when it had been her suggestion. It was certainly preferable to him continuing to blame her, at least.
Looking down at her paint-splattered and increasingly ragged dress, Mabelle frowned. "Is this fine to wear?" she asked hesitantly and almost self-consciously, not really wanting to spend the money to find something nicer for the occasion but faced with a sudden and confusing desire for him to find her at least somewhat pretty.