It is simply bad taste.

Nino sang, on the whole, better than if she had been there, for he put his whole soul in his art and won fresh laurels.

When it was over he was besieged by the agent of the London manager to come to some agreement.
"I cannot tell yet," he said.

"I will tell you soon." He was not willing to leave Rome--that was the truth of the matter.

He thought of nothing, day or night, but of how he might see Hedwig, and his heart writhed in his breast when it seemed more and more impossible.